Where are you going my little one With your hands full of summer flowers? Why do you have that smile on your lips? Why do your eyes shine like stars?
I’m coaxing with play the Summer away She’s never ever happy to leave She’ll pout and she’ll wallow, go all shades of yellow She’ll moult in the throes of grief
But when I pick up her bloom-strewn dresses And laughingly whisk them away She follows along singing a song And her sister takes up the reign
I’m the whisper of the breeze flowing in the trees I’m the drops of morning dew I’m the patter of rain on sun-kissed earth I’m her fragrance as she breathes anew
I’m the usher of times, of blossoms and snow I’m the forger of grand season farewells I’m the music and cadence, the rhythm of life I ring all its wistful and joyful bells.
This poem is written from 2 separate perspectives of 2 different people sitting in a cafe. Oftentimes, in our beautiful world, inner and outer imperfections can become calming, comforting and even uplifting.
I see her in the cafe She’s sitting on her own Like me A cup of coffee Rests in front of her Lines huddle in the space between her brows They’re furrowed now In some private grief or anxiety Only her cup knows for sure As she stares into the darkness within Her lips tremble for a moment Just a bit. She takes a quick sip Of the vitalising potion Swallowing her emotions Down they both go The sadness and the coffee Lingering on the inside now I feel my heart go out to her It hovers around her table Softly, silently, wordlessly I want to follow too But we are strangers It wouldn’t do She looks up. She sees me I smile and then I look away guiltily Outside the window And then down at my own cup of tea
I see her looking at me Just a glance, a little look Then away from the nook I am sitting at But that little exchange is everything Even in that whisper Of a gaze, that smile I feel her compassion Shimmering around me Gently, silently, comfortingly I look at her as she sits there In her wheelchair Reminding me that frailty Is never on the outside Her own courage shining bright Has skipped across the room Transforming into a tenderness Shattering my spell of gloom My heart lifts and wafts out to her I want to follow after But we are strangers I turn back to my cup And I smile I hesitate just for a while And then I beam across the room to her My heart now light with gratefulness Lit up by a beautiful stranger
I get out of bed, slowly, numbly The morning dopamine has not kicked in In fact, I have no sense of it I sigh … that’s never a good sign It’s going to be one of those days again
I turn off the AC The gentle hum that had filled the spaces Where my happy hormone should have been racing Stops. I blink slowly I look at my bedroom slippers Their shadowy forms Like yesterday’s leaves Plucked off by the breeze Lie on the ground
I get up and look at my curtains Drawn together like knitted brows Beige-blonde brows in a frown Censorial, dragging down I can’t bring myself to touch Those sulking folds To draw them back In the ritual Of morning time
I sit on the stool in front of my dressing table I look at the woman Staring back at me Barely visible, her outline perseveres Reminding me that I am still here I watch her for a while Feeling nothing - vacuous space And then I see something glimmer At the back in the mirror
The prism that I had hung up A vestigial piece of love From a chandelier that has long since Ceased to grace the space above Had caught the first ray of light That had tried to flow Into my chamber of shadows Teasing, romancing it Holding, embracing it In all its radiant rainbow hues
I turn around towards this scene Of sudden brightness I get up, pull back the curtain Just a little bit. The colours Fall in shimmering streams Across my feet I lift one up and then the other I slowly dance with the rainbow of colour My blood gushes warm, I have to smile It doesn’t seem like another dog day after all.
Such a beautiful thing this imperfection This little bit that you have sprinkled Into your soul The laugh that doesn’t tinkle, it echoes From the walls like a summer storm It doesn’t hold me in a trance It takes me along in its wholesomeness Making my atoms dance
Your smile that doesn’t dress itself In perfect pearls of evenness Instead it reaches for your eyes Hugging the lines etched there By all your joy and your good cheer It doesn’t enchant, it makes me grin There are no beguiling starry skies Your smile makes my blood glide warm within
Your body that wears its comfortable cloak Of comfort food and late night snacks It doesn’t pack 6-pack abs, instead It carries an inner anchoring That special thing that comes From going through thick and thin And still walking on, striding, taking Others along whose light has fallen dim
Your spirit that lark of joy that resides Inside your big big heart, it deploys Like an 8-watt bulb of gentle sunlight When you walk into a room and smile And crinkle your twinkling, mirthful eyes I see it then, the beautiful imperfection That makes me catch my breath Every now and then. I feel a tenderness A quiet joy and I know that I have found the one Whose angels and demons play well with mine.
A smile is such a magical thing Like a rainbow that has sprouted wings Its pots of gold shimmering In a dimpled firmament Lifting the day In its 180 degree euphoria It is that precious loop That adorns the mouth In latitudes of joyfulness Its bearings somewhere between The heart and hypothalamus A smile is a small piece Of heart that is pulled out Of its latticed, multi-ribbed house A little boon of bliss A bit of love set free Into the ether of the world That beautiful upturned arch Of rapture and release Stirring the organs and the feet Defying the pull of gravity I see your smile Framing your face I don’t know you but my heart lifts Drawing its own curve on my lips A gift bestowed for one received A smile is that magical thing.
There have been extra days of rain Delaying the heat of the approaching summer In spontaneous, joyful Shimmering showers It has streamed down or drizzled for hours There has been a surge of butterflies Yellow, brown, blue and white Flitting all over the place Happy for a few more days Of life and vitality I see them floating among the flowers Cavorting in spring-lavished bowers Treading warm currents of air Over pavements where the cracks Are speckled with dancing weeds Over an emerald oasis of grass Loop-de-looping when they pass Another bloom That’s sprung up between the blades Glorious, serendipitous Delirious on springtime bliss They somersault back To bestow a nectary kiss On soft, dewy petal lips Beating gossamer wings Evanescent, paper-thin Revelling in bountiful life The inevasible heat A distant ordeal For now in their bejewelled flights The spring-born butterflies In pure rapture will remain Celebrating the extra days of rain.
It is with great excitement and pleasure that I introduce my second book for the grownups – my book of poetry and essays titled SHIMMERING SCRAPS OF POETRY AND MADNESS. The book will be available across bookstores in Pakistan and Sri Lanka at the end of December 2022. Friends in SL can currently order it from the Jam Fruit Tree bookstore on Galle Road via call/WhatsApp to 072-7268078.
ABOUT THE BOOK:
This is a collection of poems and essays, humble opinions, rumblings of the heart about the joys, the truths, the pain, the controversies, the funniness and the wonder that criss cross all our lives in one way or another. I have compiled them here because too many times, we are witnesses to profound beauty, love, dreams, desolation, prejudice and injustice and yet, we forget.
The contents of these pages range from the sublime to the ridiculous; from soaring on the wings of ecstacy to struggling with overwhelming despair; from the capricious joys of matrimony to the dubious delights of singledom; from the profound ecstasy in a mug of steaming latte to the ardent disappointment in a less than perfectly brewed cup of tea; from the comedic to the somber and from the customary to the controversial, this collection of poems and features encompasses them all.
Scraps of Poetry and Madness is a phrase borrowed from that literary Wonder Woman, Virginia Woolfe. For in this collection too, there is a stream of raw and strident, passive and ruminative, joyous and grief-bound, mad and glad thoughts that run like a melody through the entirety of its spine; and like a sore-throated bulbul (who also has some good-voice days) I have sung them all for my readers.
The morning glow touched its face The brick-faced house in the street It stretched out in the morning rays Hide’n’seek with some it played Its favourite morning treat
In the bedroom facing the east I lay in sleep’s placid arms The sun wore its morning beam As it shone into my dawn time dreams Oblivious of my late alarm
The house shook out its paint and bricks Its nooks and crannies too The mynah was already collecting twigs To fix its nest, repair the rips From last night’s stormy brew
The day wore on, the house filled up With daytime smells and sounds It shook and shimmered, belched and laughed As it held us all in its matronly arms Safe in its blessed compound
Evening came and with it the skies Turned a beautiful rosy pink T-41 too flushed with delight Its terracotta facade catching the light As it watched the twilight sink
The resident crickets began to perform Their night time symphony The house sighed softly gathering its form It seemed like tonight would bring another storm But inside its walls was warmth and sleep.
Mahvash Mohtadullah 