I wake up, my mind numb, my legs feeling Like 10 kg bags of wet cement Have been tied to my ankles, weighting Me down, ripping a dent With my name in the fabric of the universe I think briefly of yesterday, it was the reverse Of the state of my mind, as it ties and it binds Me today as if to remind Me that nothing ever is permanent - No Nothing stays forever, it isn’t meant to Charmed luck, joy, good health and peace Hardship, tragedy, anxiety and disease They come, they take their turns at the wheel Some lasting longer, some just touch you and flee I wake up, my mind numb, my body feeling like lead But tomorrow I’m hoping I won’t feel so dead.
She gets out of the car, adjusting her shalwar The legs one mustn’t behold, out of their fabric strongholds The ankles though, for a moment show Their shameful curvature.
It can’t be helped you see, we are bipedal beings But we can’t see the nuances of practical biology When blinded by the nobility of our formidable patriarchy, And cloaked in out great Fervour of faith.
And so she bends just a little to adjust the errant drape And while she endeavours, to hold together Her blessed modesty Some man out there, finds her morality in disrepair What is she bending for, like a dirty, depraved w****!
And the floods of moral outrage at this corrupt spectacle In their godly country, cause a debacle Every man takes it upon himself to deface this hideousness He then looks to his companions, all now chomping at their bits
They rush upon this evil scene, of the wicked and immoral queen For a queen she is, from head to toe. Evil, wicked, shameful though! She makes their blood gush in great floods Testosterone-filled, Squelching like mud She makes their heads swim in strange ways Where she is master and they are slaves.
God does not permit, such sacrilege Where genders abandon their rightful places Men are meant to lead them forth Moral compasses pointing true north Held aloft by everything, a woman does, from breathing in To the way she walks in crowded streets: Ankles hidden, inconspicuous feet.
And that is why an errant sister in faith (A woman who is alone and out and about!) Reeking of impudence in her unveiled state (Putting her entire morality in doubt!) May naturally be seen by her brothers devout As a wanton woman standing at hell’s gates.
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.
It is feeling like the world has overcome You body and soul and then some It’s like drowning in a bottomless sea Gasping, gasping, trying to breathe Sputtering, choking reaching for air Crashing, thrashing limbs everywhere It’s feeling the whole world closing in Vision blurring, darkness descending. It’s being sure that many endings are near Of wanting, of living and even of fear It’s feeling the numbness spread like a pall Binding you, blinding you even as you fall Into the swirling, whirling abyss Of dead emotions, of nothingness
It’s finally seeing the smallest of gleams Picking the darkness at its hoary seams Little by little the flicker grows bright Ever so slowly it pierces the night Your leaden heart too warms in the heat Resuming its vital, pulsating beat You rise to the surface on a rip tide You’re thawing and warming on the inside You break the surface of your despair As your throttled lungs fill up with air Gasping, gasping you take in a breath Sputtering and choking you hold on to the thread Of the world coming back within reach Hope on strong wings, has ended the siege
She gathers you up in her healing arms Anointing you with her soothing balms Freeing you, steeling you so that you may walk Another day with strength and love in your heart.
For all the girls, and the women young and old, who are made to feel less, inferior or impaired because they have dreams that are different to the ones dreamt up for them by others. May you find the strength and the passion to be you.
Why must I be what I don’t want to be? Why must I change the state of my dreams? Why must I cower in fear of my world? Why must the story of my life stay untold?
Why must I hide myself away? Why must I look behind me always? Why must there always be danger to me? To my spirit, my soul, my mind, my body?
Why can I not laugh out loud when I want? Why must I hide all my joy in my heart? Why can’t I turn my face to the sun? Why must I hide in the shadows you’ve spun?
Why must I bear the ball and chain of these roots? Why must I remain invisible and mute? Why was I born if not to revel In life’s ever cresting and falling swell?
I’m a child of this world, let me roam free Let me think, let me speak, let me be me I’m a creature of this earth, I belong everywhere Let me spread my wings, let me lay my heart bare
Let me be, let me be, just what I want to be Let me dream, let me dream, what I want to dream Let me walk in this world unafraid and kind Let my life tell the story of my heart and my mind.
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.
I am the quintessential introvert There was a time I had my social spurts But all that seems like a lifetime ago The Corona gave that spacetime a blow
I absolutely love my solitude When I say ‘Leave me be’ I’m not being rude It’s just the way I’m internally wired Too much nodding and smiling just makes me tired
That’s not to say that I spurn the cliche Of the Island that No Man Is I’m just more prone to proverbs that sweep Through Still Waters that tend to Run Deep
And now I’m on the back foot yet again By that adage I didn’t mean I’m a Brain An Einstein, a Galileo or an Edison (Well .. maybe a tad like A. Tennyson)
Dear reader I’m the embodiment of reserve I don’t seek adulation that is undeserved But even as I spin this meter and rhyme I think every enterprising poet doth have her time
In the shining confluence of our universe Of writers, and scribblers, masters of verse But since I’m the quintessential introvert I’ll tell my tales from my quiet corner on earth
Still, if by some providential twist of fate Some of you think that my writing’s first rate Know that I still love my solitude I’ll thank ye kindly and then I’ll respectfully brood.
Mahvash Mohtadullah 