Kind of quirky, a tad controversial, a little whimsical and chockfull of farce
Author: Mahvash K. M.
I consider myself somewhat of a serial corporate rut absconder because a sabbatical that was to last a year, has turned to eight, and I still see no end in sight. Before that, I worked in the Financial Services Industry. When I’m not writing, I’m fussing in my head, over ideologies of social justice and equality, with superhero twists! My stories and poems have appeared in The Rumen, Sequoia Speaks, Recesses, Every Day Fiction, Blaze Vox and Double Speak magazines. My poem, “Veins” was long listed in the Plough 2023 poetry competition.
Books:
The Girl with the Paisley Dupatta - (short stories)
Shimmering Scraps of Poetry and Madness - (Poetry and essays)
Curious Animals and Quirky Creatures - (Children’s Series)
https://www.facebook.com/Mahvash.Moht/
I was in a hurry, in a mad rush The morning was crazy, yes one of those The alarm had belted shrilly out But I was dead to the world, comatose
Dreaming of wishes being lattes and Bookers Until the clock struck ten and then I threw off the duvet, leaped out of bed Limbs all awry like a headless chicken
Here’s a little aside: when I’m stressed My hair also declares a mutiny Acts up like it’s the raging heroine Of its very own show on prime time telly
And so it was in this agitation That I knocked my elbow on the door I cursed like a sailor who’s had too much ale-er Deliriously, frenziedly I swore
I vented as much as a random string Of choice expletives can enable The rest of the rage I swallowed away As virtuously as I was able
Then the ultimate decimation came to pass I stubbed my wretched left little toe What chanced to happen in the heat of my passion You really wouldn’t want to know
Suffice it to say that on that day The angels filling in my Wicked Gal page With brimstone, hellfire, the sinfulness of ire Had a field day, ‘twas their advantage
And so ‘twixt my shoulders and my feet now A funny bone doesn’t exist at all I try to be sweet-talking, kind and good Until the next time I slam, stub or fall.
They look at each other Awkwardly It’s been thirty five years Since they’d last seen each other Blood has flowed thinner, starker than water For the two sisters Now standing together
They sit down It’s in the younger one’s home The older one perches on her seat Hands clasped around her knees Knees bunched together awkwardly
The younger one makes the tea The steaming, billowing pour Softening, mollifying the tension That has stretched like taut skin Raw, painful, blue-complexioned On the surface of the atmosphere
The older one reaches for the milk She pours it into her cup of tea Hesitates and looks at her Wondering if she still drinks it The same way she did before
The younger one nods, smiles ever so faintly She puts the sugar in Looks at the older one inquiringly No, she didn’t have sugar in her tea From each other, they both look away At the steaming cups on the tray
The brews in the cups Swirl for a while Spin and beguile Then come to rest Pulling a film of whey and casein Around their hearts Hiding away from the scene Hiding away from the awkwardness
“Do you remember -“ “Do you remember -“ “You used to love the milk skin on the tea” “I used to love the milk skin on my tea”
They look at each other At last they laugh Sweet-awkwardly Eyes moist, hearts beating fast The tension is torn away Finally In the gush of warmth From the tea From she looking at her From her looking back smilingly
The older one looks at her cup The smile still playing on her lips She picks up her spoon To remove the cream Her sister never had it Today she wouldn’t too
The younger one looks at her cup Gazing down at the membrane Floating in the milky brew She picks up her cup Her sister always had it Today she would too.
She steps into the car Its gleaming surfaces Adorned with gladioli and motia* She’s the bride tonight Garlands also lovingly Entwine in her hair Their fragrance filling The nighttime air Eyes bright Face shining with expectation She glances behind her Just for a moment One last time At that spot where she stood Leaving behind her childhood Marking the end of her maidenhood She smiles Nostalgia now sits there Young, hopeful and light Eyes bright Face shining with expectation Waiting to fill the space That has been so tenderly placed Into her sacred embrace.
This is for all those who have survived emotionally, mentally and physically abusive relationships. For those who have discovered the precious blessing of sleeping deeply, peacefully without being haunted by crippling anxiety and the renewed torture that every new day would inevitably bring in its wake.
I look at him Threatening, raging Berating me The cruel words sidling in Between his verbal pounding I recognise, I see His enterprise To humiliate me To agitate, to fluster me To intimidate To paralyze me. I’m going to leave you One of these days If you tell Anyone anywhere About any of this I swear I will make you into the beast The one unfit The one tearing down this relationship
I look at him Frozen in place My heart still I’m incapable Of seeing beyond My fear I’m incapable Of seeing anything Beyond the terrifying sacredness Of the union We signed together I’m incapable I’m powerless I’m numb All I hear is a hum A white noise in my head Autonomous, involuntary Humming humming humming Preserving for that time My sanity Maybe my life …
And then one day He followed through On all the threats That he had let loose Into the fabric Of our togetherness I’m l e a v i n g y o u He said, emotionless This time there was no Placating hum No cloaking thrum Inside of me Hiding me, shrouding me I looked at him Cold sweat gripping My face, my neck The insides of my thighs Dripping, dripping endlessly But my mouth was parched My lips were dry I felt like I was going to die
But I didn’t crumble In the wind Whirling in the murky Depths of things I survived I stayed alive That shared horizon Spilling blood Dirty linen streaked with mud Was washed into the sea Decaying into infinity A whole new realm had suddenly Stretched out in front of me Full of peace and gratefulness Gladness and serenity Where I was calm and I was whole I had my body and my soul There was no fear No agony No trauma filled spaces Beckoning me
Like Kafka’s Metamorphosis* In reverse I have broken through the curse No more thrashing, crashing heart Petrified and frozen limbs No more grim hellishness Of emotional poison stings Making me cry, making me cringe I’m still here. I’m here still My lungs now take in their fill My heart is beating rhythmically No suffocating anxiety Once more I hold the hand of the child That has lived in my soul all this while For her now Nothing is impossible.
* KAFKA’S METAMORPHOSIS: Metamorphosis is a novella written by Franz Kafka which was first published in 1915 and is considered one of his best works. The main themes revolve around the burden of responsibility, isolation and alienation, and sacrifice.
This is my Alice in Wonderland type of journey through my bowl of salad. Some trials (including of the dietary variety) are best undertaken up close and personal! Also thrown in some existential angst for good measure. The title of the piece is a play on the phrase “Caught red-handed”.
I pick my way through little bits Of bright green, the shade Of fresh cut grass I then pass A scarlet flower the size of my head It sits on the ground like it’s dead Or perhaps waiting Anticipating Food? Me? Like the Venus flytrap? I shudder and go on It agitates me that I’m alone
I look up There propped On a frilly green tree I see A brown green dome Velvety on the outside Is it a temple? A den? A ploy to lull the senses Full of pretenses Of warmth and safety Waiting slyly for unsuspecting prey? I shiver and go on
I’m borne on fogs Of peppery wet air I stop and stare At uneven bricks of black and white Stacked haphazardly Here and there Are these stairs to heaven? alien art? remains of ritual sacrifice? I can’t tell … but oh the smell! As I step through a hole Soft and pliable, the pong Makes my eyes water I falter for a bit It it a giant fungus? A virus? A disease? I step through gingerly —
“Good afternoon ma’am. How’s the salad” I’m startled, awakened from my reverie I look down at my bowl Where I had been traipsing Thumb-nail small In a fearsome fantasy That my despairing mind had woven In garden salad tapestry
Lettuce, tomatoes, olives and cheese Untouched, unloved, salt-pepper doused Waiting for a forkful raised to my mouth Sit patronisingly, self righteously In the bowl, staring back at me.
I feel the pull I feel the glimmer It surrounds me, it’s all around me I freeze as it coaxes me Out of the grip of my sanity I stop struggling And let it pull me in I drown Down, down In the tsunami gushing Inside my mind But only for a breath
I resurface then In my other world My secret one Where I have no anxiety Where I don’t want to run And hide I’m beside A swing in the garden And a rocking chair. I smile. They both hold the comfort And the softness of old friends They rest there quietly
I sit in the swing I push with my feet And peek through the leaves At the golden-red sky I can’t see them But I can hear the birds I think it is dusk A velvety glow wraps my world Golden paisleys and whorls Dance around my feet As I sway gently in my seat Dappled sunlight cloaks My shoulders like angels’ wings As I weave to and fro on the swing
I breathe out, my muscles untense I’m far away from cause and consequence No memories, no sorrows No yesterdays, no tomorrows It is Now and Now is everything I lean back In the swing She holds me softly In her cushioning I close my eyes I hear something Someone is calling me Voices from far away But my lids are so heavy I can’t keep awake In the tranquil buzz Of the honey bees And the gentle murmur Of the almond trees Like wraiths the voices fade away
I’m finally home, unbound, pain-free I lay my head back and sleep.
She’s not here anymore. She’s gone Adrift in the tangle of her dreams.
An ode to SALT. Because for some inexplicable reason amidst all the grocery trips, I actually ran out of it; and it is incredible how much it was missed in just that one evening.
Sticks and stones can break my bones But food with no salt is worse You can recover from a blow to the head There’s nothing like a saltless curse
The winter cold can chill your bones Your teeth chatter, your dentures roll But no salt where there should be some Leaves your soul with a gaping hole
Spring can come awash with flowers And also pollen to clog your lungs But the lack of salt in a bowl of daal Is like missing two or three vital organs
Pasta Pomodoro, Fish and chips Chicken karahi and Reshmi kebabs De-salt the hearts of these delights And You’re left with textured slag
Lightly, medium or brazenly salted It all comes alive with NaCl Briny tears of sadness and laughter Life is an alchemy of this mineral
I look at the leaves Serrated edges, little flowers And I wonder About its identity The shrub growing under the amalthas* tree You would know You always knew As we walked in the street Outside the house You could name every flower And every tree Every creeper Even the sickness That gripped some of the leaves
You looked at these Concerned, everything else forgotten The fact that your own body Was racked with disease That ever-present pall softened By the enormity of your being Your own pain erased And at that time, in that moment I too forgot The wheelchair that you were in That you were ill; that we were grief stricken I dived right in, feeling, seeing You weaving magic around everyday things Flowers and trees grew chimerical wings
The swaying kachnar* The beskirted Ashokas* Bobbing profusions Of jasmine and phlox Fragrant bunches Of nargis* and freesias You pointed them out with happy ease And worried when any of these Were less than their perfect selves And I too smiled and looked In wonder At how joyfully you revelled in it all Holding infinity in your lit up face Offering up so much love and grace
And for those moments I too forgot The pain and the grief It was you and me Sadness free While you took me on ethereal trips Where nature in all her fullness Unfurled - beautiful, calming, brave We were carried away on a gentle wave The pitted leaves Still vital and green Were the only things we needed to save
For all the women and the men supporting them; for all those who get up every morning and despite all odds make it through the day surviving, shining, rising. For the friends and families of Sara, Mahsa, Noor, Qurat Ul Ain and of the countless nameless others like them: your grit is everything.
When it’s been tormenting Day after day. With no respite And I just don’t have it in me to fight To battle on When I’m war-weary When there is no end in sight And all I want to do Is sit in a dark room And let its coolness shroud me Until I can feel the hair Stand on my skin. There Is suddenly more to the day Than the heaviness in my heart And the endlessness of the grey That has been flowing, gripping choking me Keeping me doubled down on my knees There’s more beyond that malevolent mien Images, memories driving me insane
Now -
Now there is also something On the outside of me A little chill A little photo on the window sill Both pull at me in different ways One makes icicles To sear through The magma that has congealed Inside of me The other makes my blood flow warm Streaming, coursing through my veins Reminding me that I’m not alone My spirit and my fortitude Still cloak my shoulders Strong and true I sit up straight As they reverberate Through every atom of my being And they chant An age old song Of others like me Who’ve fought on Their hearts fused forever With the loved ones they’ve lost And I know That I’m not wielding my sword alone
Mahvash Mohtadullah 