My palm in the flower pot Has grown tall Each frond strong A testament to nurture Mine, I like to believe And the perfection Of where she lives in our home Hers and mine Our spaces combined She sits across from me Diagonally In the warmth of the floor lamp An IKEA purchase A capitalist ploy gone right She sits light in her loamy soil In the soft glow From the 6 watt trio of bulbs Sometimes of a late evening My day done, when I’m thinking Of nothing in particular, she Waves a grand green frond at me In a little conversation A whisper in the quietness A reminder maybe That we’re still here In our little eden of serenity I smile at her my mouth lifting up My spirits in its curve She rustles happily Lightening in that moment Also the lines on my palms Sweetening destiny My palm in the flower pot In that mystical little moment Stirs the whole cosmos around me.
This is for all the girls and the women who are struggling to fit into the expectations, definitions and labels that have been created for them. Keep speaking, keep striving, keep moving until you are free.
They told me that I should slow down To put my roots into my soil But when I did When I trusted the hands that would Nurture those tendrils, tender fragile They instead beat them down Crushed and strangled them in the ground Burnt their life seeking ends And everytime that they grew When they reached for something new They cut them down Again and again they continued All my tomorrows were carved out to be Bleak as the ashen soil that held My soles, my skin, my soul, my sins Fusing them for the world and me They were one, coalesced That none could sunder Save the keepers of the roots And God himself Resurrected in their image to suit Him and him and Him and them In a conspiracy of guilt and hell
So I uprooted myself And I found someplace else
I slowed down and felt the ground The soil was light, loamy brown I sat down, took off my shoes I dug in my soles, my soul, my whole And that is when I found my roots.
I draw so you remember What happened in October Of 2023 And November and December and January and February And on and on in 2024 and 2025 I draw because I’m still alive
I stand where the stricken Lie dead or dying in the rocks Once homes and hospitals I stand And I draw so you remember
And should I lose my hands I will still paint The ravaged spaces that I see I’ll paint them with my feet I’ll sit With my reds and greys amid Strewn limbs and death debris A paintbrush in my toes
And should I lose my legs One of them or both And if I can draw a breath I’ll still draw the faces Of the living and the dead I’ll etch them with my eyes Into the watching skies
I’ll engrave them in the heavens Where angels wait to greet All of me and mine We, the flowers of Palestine
I’ll draw, I’ll paint, I’ll etch Until my dying breath So that you can always see So that you don’t forget.
You tell me I should have known Better than to trust another With tender things Like the blood reveling warm within Sweet imaginings You tell me I should have seen The telltale clues in between The spaces where I had wrapped My heart around someone, rapt In the throes of so much joy I beamed, I glowed for months on end You remind me now again I look at you and I smile Sometimes silence golden and still Is all that is needed to fill The pause waiting to receive Contentions, remonstrations, a speech I let that moment pass me by Bloated with pent up intrigue Silence exquisite, shimmering Now takes me in its calm embrace I had loved with all my heart No regrets, no shame, no blame My quietness golden and still Now safekeeps memories in that space.
There’s a sweet pain in my chest A bloom of soft memories in my head They hold hands for a time Making me smile for a little while Charging then to pierce my eyes Awkward friends This ache in my ribs And these recollections They make me weep And yet all the while Hugging each atom of my being Places and spaces inside of me Phantom-greyed, blue-bruised, bleak Stark in the darkness of old scars and stings Fledgling losses, crushed hearts and things They hold them close the vital lot Nostalgia and loss begot I have a tender-sweet ache in my chest I wait for my pin-pricked eyes to attest To love that was gentle, to the fierce kind Rapt in reminiscence they fill my mind.
Each time I put them away In some silent corner of my being Locked away So they don’t rear Their grief-gorged heads When it’s not their time Nor their day
And then you begin A conversation Those things I’ve been meaning to say Rattle the locks that hold them at bay I let them out They race for my heart My eyes smart
They scratch their way To my mouth I let them out Hesitating with every one That escapes Wrapping itself around your shoulders In a hug, a tortured embrace
Waiting for you To look at them, feel their grain Their pain, hear their refrain They float around waiting for you You turn away Their ragged breaths Steam up the pane
They quiver In a final thrum of hope Fallen, on the ground they grope For a sliver of faith But you turn away Unhearing, unseeing They disintegrate Into nothingness around your feet.
It is the bee buzzing round the last summer flower It is the lightest drizzle on a scorching day It is the rainbow after it has stormed for hours That has ravaged everything in its wake It is the bright little smile on the face of a child Selling elastics and incenses on the street When you roll down your window at a traffic light When you leave her with a kind word or three It is the weed growing through age-worn furrows In a cement sidewalk, swaying in the breeze It is the faithful, steady unbroken flame That warms the heart of a dying candle It is the single green leaf on a tree that’s ailing It is the silent prayer That leaves your lips Even when all about you is despair It is the next step ahead on a broken path Eyes lighting up a horizon that has fallen dark Hope is sometimes just the littlest spark
It is feeling like you just can’t go on anymore It is also your blood gushing stronger than ever before It is the frame that you pull out of a drawer Into which you put photos of those that are gone It is brushing your hair Pulling it into a bun It is clipping your nails When all’s said and done It is reading this verse Sitting alone in the quietness It is laying yourself down in your bed of sighs It is your throat constricting, you breaking inside It is also awaking to thunderous skies Their wetness brimming in your aching eyes Mangled hearts that still throb in the ebb and the flow It is you that’s still here Though you’ve bled and you’ve bruised Hope pearlesceht strings through all of those.
I couldn’t. Everywhere I looked, it was there, looming like a mountain, shivering with the bones and moans of people gone. Rattling its presence constantly. I felt it reach desperate fingers through my veins, slowing my blood to a cold, desolate crawl. Then, roaring through my ears in floods that threatened to rip through the corners of my eyes. My parched eyeballs burned until I couldn’t see.
See me …. Feel me
I couldn’t let myself feel its broken form. Jagged and sharp, it would cut through my flesh everytime I looked at it. No matter how fast I fled, it caught up and gripped me around my chest. So tight, I couldnt breathe. I gasped for air, taking in big choking gulps. And then I ran again. I ran and ran until I couldn’t feel.
Feel me … Hold me
I couldn’t let it engulf my senses, to stir up memories that howled in my head. Its own throbbing soul pitched wretchedly inside its quivering tortured layers. Layers upon layers of purple-grey. Like bruises that just don’t heal. It kept hitting itself bruise upon bruise against the walls of my ribcage until every seam was tattooed with wounding inks. Until it lay prone, ragged and torn. I couldn’t look at it, I couldnt hold it.
Look at me … See me … Feel me … Hold me
Hold me … Feel me … See me … Look at me
I looked at it then, and saw a face there, distorted with pain. So much pain. It was mine. I saw it then, fold up its battered layers and quietly crawl into my heart I felt it then, as it tenderly claimed my body, seeping into every atom of my being I held it at last as it became whole, unbroken, divine. My grief finally belonged to me.
O blue blue sky How often have you seen Grown men cry And children console Kneeling, hand on a ravaged knee Balled inside grieving bones Sunk deep within fractured tombs Their bare stares full of wonder Rare, untouched by such things As sense or consequence Or contrivance or pretense Guileless they just gaze and gaze Eyes wide and bright and beautiful No little cups brimmeth over No tears spill They just watch, they take their fill There is no shock, there is no awe Just the truest bluest won-der One that you may have felt once O blue blue sky When for the very first time You saw all of creation, heaven And earth perfect, unsullied, pure From eyes that were of the bluest azure.
I know we haven’t talked in a while I know I haven’t seen you wear your soft smile We’ve said things to each other we didn’t mean Tearing and splitting the vital seams Of the fabric of our togetherness I know that I have felt desolate, helpless We have sat in silence, cold as frost The glow of our closeness long since lost Somewhere along life’s bewildering way I let your warm hand slip away
I know we haven’t talked in a while I know I haven’t seen you wear your gentle smile
Through the years we have journeyed on Along the same path but each on our own Forged by our children, we treaded their dreams Only seeing shadows of you and me Still together we walked into middle age But it’s been a while since I really saw your face It’s been a few years since the air around Was filled with your familiar scent and your sound Somewhere, somehow I lost the quickening string That bound us together through thick and through thin
I know we haven’t talked in a while I know I haven’t seen you wear your lovely smile
But I know you’re still here, your pulse still beats warm Even as we’ve both whipped up raging storms They’ve whirled inside, while we’ve pulled away The terrible loneliness adding to the fray I know that we are distances apart But I can still feel you in the depths of my heart Let me find you once again in the mists Of sepia memories, reminiscences Let me hold your hand as I once did before Let us walk together, in step once more
I lost sight of you, dearest for a while Let me love you again, let me make you smile.
Outside in the garden There’s a Passion flower vine Its little green tendrils Have curled here and there Where the shoots are fullest Lushest, most verdant They burgeon and grow Weaving circles of rapture Until they’ve spun around Seven times Lighting up the chakras of life And then just like that Their work done Of dancing in the sun They fall
Inside the house There’s a woman Her hair Is tied up in a bun She’s on the run With little tendrils escaping At the nape of her neck She’s rushing upstairs There’s a toddler emergency And then she races like the wind Into the kitchen To make breakfast And then she’s on the run again Appointments, to-do lists, errands To complete And then back to cook and clean To feed and coddle, kiss a bruised knee
The hours weave their set design Finite, regimented, organized But she has no sense Of their texture or lines The day is done and finally She sits down for a while Soft tendrils forming At the nape - one, two, three I hold my breath I count the whorls in the curls The longest one has six I look away A little thought flits up to me Unexpectedly, a sign Whispering secrets I don’t want to hear Of endings on the whorl-bearing vine
She smiles at me tiredly I wish, I wish fervently That the curls that gather Loosely around her neck Is just hair soaked in sweat In the labour of love I pray, I pray silently Into the depths of whatever’s out there God, the universe, ethereal energy For the moisture laden curls to weave Their mystical circles for a few more years Until they attest To a life well-lived, joyfully Until they wear their silver-grey majesty Before they finally Unspool in eternal rest.
Mahvash Mohtadullah 