Day breaks and I’m asleep But I can tell it’s dawn again The light touches my retina Through the barrier of my skin It gently feels its way around The darkness behind my shuttered lids Then it sits itself down Waiting for me to let it in To start its morning ritual of Dancing with my rods and cones The caper sometimes morphs into A red hot duel that is fought Electro-impulsively in my brain Where the battleground is wrought Or we break into a marathon run Away, away from every one Flowing with the adrenaline Out of the arteries, into the veins I lead it where it needs to go Some days we waltz, and on some We antelope it out the door Day breaks, I open my eyes to see I’m floating, floating into infinity.
This is for the ladies. Amidst all the funniness abounding in the verse, there is a subtle message of self love and self reliance.
Here’s hoping that we can always read between the literal and figurative noisy lines that may be thrown at us in the name of love. And that our peace of mind and our sense of self worth always supersede other enterprises of the liver (jigar) and the heart!
No offence to my male family, friends and acquaintances - these are truth-telling times!
He said I love you Like I have never loved another I said you’re 48 and you’re still Looking for that perfect other?
Surely you’ve felt something in that realm You have walked down lovers lanes Were you perchance arm in arm With your tonic and your gin? And not a woman whom you’d consider A partner and a friend No, she was always just a trip A means towards an end Each bedecked your evenings out The “I love yous” that left your lips Were whispered as sweet nothings In between your boozy sips And now you tell me that You’re in love with me too Except it’s not your usual form You don’t know what’s happened to you! Maybe your three-month romances Would extend to five with me But the Shallow Hal* in you, pal Is still waiting to count to three And then your extra special Trademark escape artistry Will take center stage It’ll be the same old page From your book of Love for Free
That day he said I love you Like I have never loved before I said dear boy you wouldn’t know true love If it speared you in your gall bladder
…. and why I am undoubtedly the man of your dreams!”
* Shallow Hal: A 2001 Hollywood Rom-Com in which Hal, a shallow man who only dates attractive women, falls in love with Rosemary, after being hypnotized to see the inner beauty of women, not knowing that she is obese.
I thought I’d write a poem today For a change, a cheerful one It seems like my prolific poetry Is making me the Queen of Glum
It’s not that I don’t see the beauty The hope and joy that abound In big and small spaces In young and old faces Oh i see it all around!
But I also see life’s glimmer Fade away, get slowly dimmer In close and distant places In fresh and weathered faces And my own feelings grow grimmer
The angst nudges the bard in me Unlike any rush of triumph or glee The words spill out agonised, enraged In wounded quatrains upon the page (And I have to say!) I feel lighter for the venting spree
So I thought I’d write a poem to tell Whether in fact I am capable Of verse that won’t assault your tear ducts Or indeed get your adrenaline up (What can I say!) These are the quirks of waxing lyrical
I woke up today, I’d had ten hours of sleep A mixture of guilt and satisfaction rolled around In my frontal lobe. Yesterday had been Another tsunami of sights and sounds So much activity, so much to process My neurons had scrambled like spooked racehorses With a glass of water, I sat still until I reached in my bag for my bottle of Advil
I finally went to bed, it was 3 am I had to switch off, I had to get to sleep I had to be a part of the human condition I closed my eyes and began counting sheep I lay in the wakeful throes of identifying The multicoloured sheep that went flying Across a rainbow stile that was ten feet high … Who was I kidding! Wide awake I opened one bright eye
Now when daylight stabs my eyelids with its beams A cosmic alarm clock to wake up to and be spry Even as it prods me in the haziness of my dreams I snooze it three-score times, as I waken by and by The Advil and the sheep remain my special twins One bleats its lullabies, the other stills the din So I go from day to day and from night to night Sometimes it’s tumultuous, at others it’s alright
I carry this thing, it sits on my shoulder Some call it a chip; I call it my boulder It gnaws at my insides, it makes for low blows When I’m swirling around in its treacherous throes
I am sometimes deceitful when I feel its weight Dignity and grace I cavalierly leave at the gate If it tells me I’m worth nothing, that I’m wretchedly small I’ll lash out blindly at one and all
I grew up believing this weight that I hold Of inflated egos and machismo bold Is an age old legacy that’s been bestowed From father to son and from son down below.
With time, it has morphed into an ugly avatar Sometimes the pricks of conscience are stark But driven by habit and custom and time I let my massive chip drag me into the grime
I’m weaving this rhyme when I’m feeling lucid And can see the chip: festering and putrid Most times though it pokes me with its manly muscle: I could murder that person who honked at my Honda Vezel!
And so I go blundering and blustering through life Ego in one hand; in the other an invisible knife When my shoulder can’t bear the weight of the chip I unburden, I plot and I rage. I’m insidious.
I opened the curtains to the sun peeping through Pillowy clouds were floating around - just a few I stood at the window, the sleep fading away I smiled - We were going on our seaside trip today!
I packed up my bag, threw in my shorts A couple of shirts and two pairs of socks Even by the coast I traipse around in my sneakers I grinned as I also packed my Bluetooth speaker
I went to the kitchen to make myself tea Put on the kettle and looked out at the sea Visible only from that room - the irony! I giggled - I’d soon be walking on a soft sandy beach
A steaming cup in my hand, I went to my lounge I watched a pelican as it flew drunkenly around It had become suddenly overcast and grey I laughed, it was going to be a nice drive to the bay
And then I went to the loo for a minute or five I was getting ready, my partner was about to arrive I came out to a full fledged tropical squall I guffawed at the tragedy of the “best laid plans” and all!
I closed the curtains, the sun had been snatched up by Zeus It was noon but he was obviously in one of his moods I lay down, took a deep breath, closed my eyes I sighed - The tropical weather gods loved to surprise!
I walk down the street, my face set so The kind that threatens “Back off!” you know .. Some also call it the Resting Bitch Face I call it my Psychosocial Can of Mace
I will deny that I’m a lonesome brooder Heck! I love life’s energy and sizzle It’s just that as I’ve grown older … and crosser My Crap Tolerance has all but fizzled
The thing is I now don’t take kindly to Neanderthal stares when I am about Eyeballs a-popping, dignity devolving Seeing Homosapien man driving himself out!
I remember I used to look away before The caveman crassness too much for me Now I reward them, with stupendous contortions Maybe add an unlovely squint or three
Here’s the ruse, these men are obtuse They’ll only ever shake their tails To the pretty demure, girl next door A vibe that so many ladies emanate
So when they see, the prettiness flee Leaving a facial mass of disturbing stuff The caveman stands up, evolution catches up The genteel one can’t look away fast enough!
So the next time, that you feel inclined To give an avid ogler a fit resprise Toggle the peeps, bare all your teeth In a grimace fit for Franken-bride
And that ladies, is why you’ll find me Walking serenely down the street Until I’m in a parade, for the Staring Brigade Then I unleash the power of the squint and the teeth.
Written amidst the mind-numbing perils of never ending curfew lockdowns. Read at your own mental risk 🤓
Tak taka tak - Tak Tak Kaun hai bhai bata ab tak
CHINA!
CHAI NA girana babu Bari tarpay tarpay tarpay Meri leg not so halkay halkay
Knock knockity! Knock Knock Who’s there, before I click back the lock
ZEBRA!
ZE BRA in France is black or white Practical and just hugging one right And if you feel the added zeal Add some colour, like lilac and teal.
Tap ti tap tap - Tap Tap Who is it? That was a fine rap
LIZARD!
LIZ ‘EARD you call her “mighty stout” You really put your foot in your mouth! She may be big but she’s got style She’ll make you eat your words for a mile
Ding da ding ding- Ding Dong Who is it? Come sing us a song
RHINO! O-O! O…OOOO!
Mr. RAI, NO we will not do this Mrs Rai yes it’s all the craze Rainbow coloured hair for you And I will go for baby blue
Clap de clap clap - Clap Clap Who goes there? Who gives my door a thwack?
‘Tis me MAYNA!
MAY NA bhoolonga MAIN NA bhoolongi My nemesis is bharta de cauliflower And mine is garbanzo beans!
Open the door for salvation Open the door for your soul Who … who’s there? ‘Tis me your moral sense, Call me your conscience No punning, rhyming words here No weighty equations. Just you and me and clarity That’s been lost too long at sea
I’m deaf! I’m deaf! I can’t hear you Ps. I’ve not seen any clarinet either! (Hehe!) So the door stays closed, barred and locked Not opening any windows neither! Go elsewhere, go where you can be heard The (h)earless are quite rampant here Don’t come knockity knocking upon my door Amd I’ll pretend as if you were never here - dear!
A satirical take on some of the fairy tales we’ve grown up with. Can you guess each of the four Scary Tales? 🤓
You know I kind of hate you With your magic and your spells Always trying to help folks Always being so swell My father’s on his own trip Marrying yet again I wanted all his attention Now of my existence you’re the bane So I’m going to show you up as The evil step mom in the wings Going to booze and then I’ll snooze And await my Prince Charming
I’ll do you better with my step fam A mother and her progeny! I curse the day I met them The entire simpering family! I’m irked by their sweet faces These step sisters of mine Always minding their Ps and Qs, Dimpling their saccharine smiles. I’ll raise a big fake scandal Of their meanness and their pride Pater will have no choice But to have them thrown outside.
I’m a bit of a peculiar one I loved my solitude Until father brought in New Mom My lonesomeness to loot Always laughing, always nice So gleeful and alive I’d been cringing night and day At her effusive vibe So I plotted insidiously and By and by got myself out I now have my own tower For my tresses and my gout.
You’ve all taken so long to weave Yourselves into this rhyme We got rid of our step mom One bread crumb at a time. She insisted on healthy food And also bushels of love Ugh! No! We wanted none of that So we arranged for witchy stuff Old Dame Crone opened her home To us to live with her Ice cream and pizza off the doors In bed, Twix and Ferrero Rocher!
The old wives tales of mean step moms Are a riot and a half But we are not complaining; No! We’re having the last laugh Princesses and Cinder-gals We’ve all got our own quirks And truth be told, we oft unfold Into audacious jerks These scary tales are the flip side Of the happy ever after Sometimes the cackle that you hear Is our malificent laughter.
Our blue green world has gone to POT Not the stuporous, cheering kind The elating, fascinating kind The happily beclouding kind The angst all a-blurring sort No, all that it certainly is not
But our world has gone to POT Not the souffle baking sort Not the healthy steaming kind Not the chicken tikka fry Nor the chuck roast braising sort No, none of that comforting lot
But our world has gone to POT Not the bowel movement kind The cleansing of the intestines The calming morning ritual kind The 1 kg load lessening sort No, of the closet family it’s not
But our world has gone to POT Moral compass broken down Compassion harder to be found Dignity, serenity, gratefulness Are just so many hollow sounds In the flowing waters of life From cresting fullness back to the ground
Yes, our world has gone to POT Not the stuporous, cheering kind Not the soufflé baking sort Not the morning ritual kind. But the saddening, maddening sort The depressing, disappointing sort The “I’m done with it. Over and out” That’s how our world is going to pot.
Mahvash Mohtadullah 