They speak and words Fumble from mouths That wish that they Were speaking out Of something else Of the obvious
It has to be It has to be
Humanity has otherwise Lost its wings Its feathers shorn By barbs and stings From treacherous planes Rockets blazing By the ugly might Of vetoing Might it be Those hearts still beat To other things Resembling, faintly even An evenness, a balancing Of fickle acts, good intentions For a time, lost in a storm Treacherous, unsteadying
They speak and words Come stumbling out Of throats that lie In tender flesh Fleshing out sweeter things Like hearts that throb On other planes And blood that sings Of vital things Could it be those Soul-stirring thoughts Have lost their way In heart’s hollow They pulsate Knock-knocking On its ribs
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.
She sits there selling bangles Set up in a wicker basket Some laid down on the grass Every now and then she gently Sweeps off the dust that spreads thinly From teeming feet that hurry past Barely slowing near the woman Sitting on her haunches hoping For someone to slow down, to pause Her concave belly almost touching The basket that is tugging The life blood from her womb Every time that she moves Spilling it in little driblets Onto its precious load
The maternal bond of glass and blood Unremitting, never enough As she sits car-caressing Sometimes fretting, sometimes fussing Rearranging, caring, loving Always loving, always loving A tender smile hov-hovering Around her tired mouth She is umbilical-corded To her treasures Resting in their bed of wicker Willing them to cleave their way Into the hearts of passersby Willing them to shine so bright That it brings tears to her eyes The boundless world of plenty In those bangles by her side
Behind her lie two little heads Heat-numbed and stupefied Little thumbs in little mouths Doing their best to pacify The endless hunger in their bellies Matured and rarefied Over lifetimes spent behind Their mother as she hums Little songs of gentle rain On golden fields of wheat and rye Watching their little sisters Take all their mother’s time Resting in their basket They tinkle and they wink They watch their little sisters Gleaming, laughing in delight Suckling on the joyfulness That streams from their mother’s eyes.
NB: Image is from the World Wide Web. Artist was not mentioned.
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.
I resolved to write egged on By echo-braised recipes Of grating voices and bitter hearts And chopped up memories They tossed about inside my head Seize-sizzling, beet-bloody Of you is who I tried to write As bits of you fell in In-cisor cut, unholy messed Out and in of my sight I took my pen The scene was set I would write of pent up things Of audacious consequence But my pen lent itself more To gnawing contemplation A cooked-up imagination As it bickered in my mouth The words they just sat there Headless, fleshless, boneless, bare I chewed again upon the pen They leapt aloft and hovered then For a bit before they bit Me on my purposeful lip The drop of blood Drop.ped on my page There was no plot there was no stage There was no more righteous rage For them to come off eloquent And so I laid down the pen Let down my resolute bun Bun-dled off my peaceless pique Pick-ed all of myself up then Set free an ex-heal-ation I don’t think that I’ll try again.
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.
Eyes rheumy, ringed with grey Stare at me, stare me down But their old fire is gone Almost gone … age-worn I still shrink, but imperceptibly Outwardly there is no sign Of being pushed off the line Off my center, intimidated Bullied, silently hated For that time. Those eyes Still try to be Windows to his reflection of me Disappointing, different, so unlike The version I should have been
I look back at him Even as I feel my own agitation Silently Pull at my edges, wringing at them Helplessly, I don’t want the drama I’m too old for that now He’s older but he doesn’t see The futility, the lovelessness, This rejection of me I look away, back at my book Quiet, stoic as calm as can be Inside another little piece Of closeness, affection, familiarity Breaks off into the grey-ringed void Of distances spanning an eternity.
The blue has vanished from your skies The golden gleam from your eyes Snatched away, so many times So many times, it found its way Back into your lion hearts Through shining windows of your souls Now gaping holes pockmark your homes That still stand In the ruins of your beautiful land Once again it’s raining shells Mixing in With the silver salt of your tears again Washing, washing sins on sins They keep hounding, pounding down You keep cleansing, renewing again With tender streams that gush forth Washing, washing, washing sins The world has watched for so long As you have sung your ardent songs Of peace and freedom, just those Worn your sorrow, brave and strong While the world has sat secure In the boundaries etched and drawn Liberty-guarded, Flag-adorned While you lie shrouded in the dust Of rockets plunged into your hearths Hearts bleeding, torn apart The world is watching yet again Your pain, your pain, your searing pain Has seeped into our prickling skin From all the rivers to every sea We see you now Palestine Each woman and each man Standing tall unto the end We keen with you Palestine For every child that has died Blown to bits or buried alive We scream with you Palestine Our voices ring across the earth For every tear that you have shed For every drop that you have bled A million hearts now hold your grief A million more march on and on In every city, every town We roar with you Palestine From the river to the sea You will prevail, you will be free.
She’s caught in the rush of hurrying feet Snippets of conversations Of laughter, exclamations She’s caught in a tidal wave Of teeming, streaming life She’s caught in the swell Of people of voices, of sights and smells Riding the vital wave Pushing ahead Her silk scarf catches the breeze Of swelling, surging humanity She feels it pull Floating just a little in front of her She quickens her step Her feet instinctively keeping up With the urgency of life She feels something In her gut, the pit of her stomach A ripple, almost a laugh! She inhales deeply, she can’t place This sudden lightness of being It feels out of place This morning, mourning She had felt like lead Now like vapor she rises up Colourless, clean In that moment she’s someone else Propelling her body like a comet Lighter, brighter almost serene
She arrives at her gate 8A The same number, the place Where this very morning She had buried them She had forgotten For a few moments Who she was She was desolation and grief itself Wearing the bruises of loss Mourning only this morning It all came back dawning As she came to herself As her blood remembered And curdled inside A freezing, heaving cauldron of chills She sank into the depths of her seat 9B There was a sequence Monumental, compelling To her agony She had to remember She couldn’t forget Her world had ended When she had buried her dead.
But you have to wed There is no other way Unless of course I’m dead He’s family, my sister’s son Your cousin You’ve known each other Since forever Yes, he used to be my brother! LIKE a brother when you were little He’s not your brother Don’t say these bizarre things ‘Bhai hai! Khair hai, chai bana lo’ That wasn’t said so long ago By you mother, ammi, ammini, enemy
That was then and this is now I have a child Sing, drums play for you A son is born, sing! My child, so beautiful Come down sing drums play for you Sing drums play, come Down-sing-drums Play for you, come Down-Syn-Drums Play for you, come Down-syn-drome Pain for you, come, come down….
This is now and how it shall remain My child, golden Beautiful, so beautiful So angry, so tearful And also so dry-eyed, so agonized So angry all the time He screams again I close my ears sometimes I disappear now and then I look away from his little head Swollen with tears, angry, unshed
But I had to wed There was no other way He was family, her sister’s son Now my son my son, my beautiful, broken son There was no other way I had to become the bride Unless of course I had died.
Palms together Cradling the chakra of your heart You give of your essence to the world You pray for healthfulness For the fruition of dreams and things The prayer travels from your lips Like a flock of migrating starlings It moves with purpose and with aim Of ardent supplications
It then joins hands with other wraiths With other ghosts in the gold-green ether Of immaculate petitions and pleas That linger in grace fulfilled, replete And also those that hopeful remain Floating like fireflies, lighting the way For other prayers that have lost their way In the cosmos of blessed invocation
Palms together Facing the chakra of my solar plexus I send my own missive into the universe There are no words to this appeal My gut sends the scriptless message for me I’m not quite sure of what it is I close my eyes and soundlessly Wordlessly, I send out my energy To take on what form it will In the maya of our collective dreams.
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.
Mahvash Mohtadullah 