VERSE | THE LAST FLIGHT

I look ahead, scan the horizon
The sun is just rising, brightening
The world around me
I feel nature’s potency run through my veins
With all its might
Each muscle and each tendon tightening
I am ready for flight

My feathers gleam, I spread my wings
I catch a current of air as it sings
I lift off and soar
At one with the world around me
I climb higher and higher
I listen to the hum of the stratosphere
I can hear the cosmic choir

I glide, I soar, I sail, I fly
In the startling blue of a cloudless sky
I dip, I climb, I plunge, I rise
I shoot ahead as the crow flies
I whoop in the throes of sublime joy
CRACK! I feel the fragments of lead
Of human sport. I plummet to my death

VERSE | I AM PARALYSED

LISTEN TO THE POEM BEING READ AT: https://vm.tiktok.com/ZSd8NkqMC/?k=1
I saw a man at a street vendor’s today
He was engaged in the enterprise of buying fruit
His expression was a breath short of displeased
He wanted a bargain; he planned to depart with his loot.
The air conditioned grocery store was his next stop
Where he paid three times as much for some shrivelled carrots.
I watched these transactions in the street and the store
The poor man got swindled; the rich just made more
I watched capitalism play out its gory game
But I just watched, my mouth was scotch-taped.

I saw a runner deliver food today
To someone in a swanky neighbourhood
The man came out, took his food, turned around
The rider waited a while, staying where he stood
But the man had disappeared into the embrace
Of his upmarket condo, his ultra elegant space
Discretionary income was for parties and clothes
Doling out tips was for mass market folks
I watched these Economics of One play out
But I just watched, my hands were bound.

I have seen these and many more
Unbalanced, unequal, sad acts of trade
The shiny big ones always splashed with largesse
The small, modest ones always selfishly made.
The serendipity of kindness and grace
The simplicity of a helping hand
Are like ships that we have lost at sea
Broken pieces now and then washing up on the sand.
I watch these exploits crush and agonise
But I just watch, I am paralysed.

VERSE | PARADISE LOST

I see a woman standing at the traffic light
Even in her shabbiness, she’s neat and clean
She stands on the wayside wondering
For the hundredth time what she is doing on the street.
People look at her from their car windows
A nonchalant glance up and then away
Their psycho-social barriers
Comfortingly coming down to save their day
From unpleasant pangs of conscience
As they niggle at the edges of their minds
The world is troubled, their impact small
Sometimes it’s just better to be blind.


She looks at the faces in the cars
Indifferent, unseeing; wishing her away
She clutches the hem of her tattered shirt
Picks up the gumption to still walk their way
She looks at a lady who hasn’t averted her eyes
The shame is too much and she swallows hard
Even so, she manages a faint little smile
Hoping for kindness, compassion, regard
The lady looks up, seeing her for the first time
She’s irritated, she’s irked for letting her guard down
Beggars, pleaders of various requests
Destroy her peace of mind
, she frowns.

She waves a dismissive hand at the sight
And looks away, she will not lock eyes
Maybe the beggar will go to the next car
With her chafing, imploring enterprise
The woman feels the withering blow
As she hurriedly backs away from the car
The wounds in her heart are bleeding anew
Everyday there are fewer healing scars
She stumbles back onto the foot path
Eyes stinging with hopelessness and fatigue
This world seems done with the likes of her
She too is done with her destiny.

VERSE | STRANGE-HEARTED

It’s Strange
How some people call all the shots
For you and me; on what’s right and what’s not
On how we should all live our lives
On what we should want to grow and to thrive
And we follow them like so many mice
The Pied Piper surely leaves us no choice

It’s Strange
How some nations are on top of their game
And others continually parry insults and blame
Some swirl around in their blood, sweat and tears
While others race on winds of good cheer
And yet we stand by like so many sheep
The First World Dream will not let us be

It’s Strange
How the spirit of our humanity
Has gone into permanent servitude
For the battle of egos of the few
Losing our grip on what’s right and true
And we circle around like so many moths
Burning our wings in the flames of their wrath

It’s Strange
How hard it has become of late
To step out of the comfort of the bell curve
Created to kill off the being that’s you
Teaching you how you must hate and love
And we fight on like so many soldiers sore
Thinking one more battle will win us the war

It’s Strange
Even as I write these lines
A question skips on the edge of my mind
No, there are two for misery loves company
Who’ll tell me the answers that I seek to find -
When did the glow inside me cease to exist?
When did Instinct and Courage let go of my wrists?

VERSE | PRIDE AND PREJUDICE

“What is your name my dear
Where do you come from?”
(IN HER MIND)
I like the basic look of you
But what place do you call home?

I look at her expectant face
It’s so brimful of hope
I wonder if I should in fact
Play to her embedded tropes

I smile a little smile and then
I look her in the eye
“I’m from _____, my friend”.
I see her excitement wilt and die

She rallies as best she can
She goes to a lot of trouble
But I’ve put a big fat pin into
Her socio-cultural bubble

Her smile, it slowly wanes and then
It falters to a grim
Look of being unsure, like she’s
Invited the enemy in

I look into her eyes and see
Hesitancy, disappointment
I smile a bigger smile now
To appease, to be an ointment

A chance I give to those who seem
Caught in a state of flux
Their hearts and minds, in a grind
That confusion surely sucks!

But She doesn’t warm up to me
Her face is now quite set
The name and the person
Are no longer relevant

(IN HER MIND)
You’ve told me where you come from
That’s enough for me, thank you.
My steadfast biases have
Second-guessed the rest of you.

VERSE | THE QUINTESSENTIAL SINNER

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.

VERSE | ANOTHER TIK IN THE WALL – Part Two

A tribute to all the young women who are constantly attempting to be bigger than the patriarchal shadows cast upon them. (This is in specific response to the most recent mauling by hundreds of men, of a girl who was making a video on Independence Day at Minar-e-Pakistan – a monument ironically, symbolising freedom and self determination).

There was once an average girl
Average I use to disclaim
That she was your happy gal next door
Not your wild and sassy dame

Not that there’s much wrong with that
It’s for those who tend to decry
The women greater than their veil
Behind which they ought to hide

Hide away from prying eyes
Hide away from sin
Hide their bodies, hands and feet
Hide their existence

The Sin that marches all about
Ready to be employed
In the lawless caveman hands
Of any man or boy

She decided she was bigger than
The shadows that cloaked her being
She was going to live her life
She would do so many things

She already had a fan base
She was a minor TikTok star
She would post quirky things
Of her adventures near and far

And so it was on Freedom Day
Full of patriotic zeal
That she went to the Minar*
To capture the national feel

And there is when it happened
The Sin awaiting its Amen
Was pulled to its fruition
By hundreds of stir-crazed men

Mauled and savaged was that girl
Because she had essayed
To be more than the sum of her
Shadows and opaque veils

And that’s the ominous legacy
Our nation tends to bestow
On any woman who attempts
To spread her wings, to grow.

There was once an average girl
She’s as average as she seems
In the Rank and file of nameless girls
Who’s dreams have been “washed clean”
* Minar: Means “Tower” in Urdu. Here it refers to Minar-e-Pakistan

Read Part One here:
https://theroamingdesi.org/2021/04/15/tiktok/

VERSE| I AM THE MAN

This is for Noor, Qurat-ul-Ain, Saima and the countless nameless others that we never get to hear of, that have lost their lives to the shameless, lawless brutality of the men in their lives.

I am a man
I was born the only son of the family
I was born in the arms of plenty even when scarcity surrounded me
I was born with a silver spoon in my mouth even while my sisters shared the dregs of their copper bowls
I was born with the mantle of privilege and opportunity cloaking my lusty body.

I am a man
I grew up learning that I was better than my sisters.
I grew up knowing I was special.
I grew up expecting the world to be my oyster.
I grew up demanding that every whim and every fancy be fulfilled as naturally as I breathed.

I am a man
I know I am one of the special Male Fraternity
I know I have a world of unique advantages in my patriarchal homeland
I know that I can let my unbridled desires carry me on strong, brawny wings
I know that I can have anything I want.

I am a man
I take what I want every time I want it
I seize what my heart desires whenever it feels thus inclined
I possess by true means or false, whatever I covet
I destroy by any means I can that which I cannot have.

I am the man
I am the man who wanted a woman who did not want me
I am the man who was insulted, offended, livid at this dismissal of my desires
I am the man who then ignited the flame of his honour and masculinity
I am the man who avenged the unrequited heat of his loins

I am the man
I was born with the mantle of privilege and opportunity cloaking my lusty body.
I grew up knowing I was special.
I knew that I could have anything I wanted.
I destroyed by any means that which I could not have.
I am the man who ended her.

VERSE | THE SHADES OF LONELINESS

I’ve seen the colours of loneliness
I’ve seen their moldering faces
I’ve seen them fill the keening voids
Of our broken, scattered places
It’s the grey of the sky just before it descends
In blinding cascades
Of granite and slate
While waiting for that one special friend of the heart
Who’s gone an infinite distance apart
Gone forever, not coming back
It’s the darkening shades of smoke and ash
Stifling and choking, it’s emotional whiplash

It’s the curdled russet and clotted yellow
Of dying leaves
Still on the trees
It’s the hope that once blossomed
Now just a vanishing dream
Like fading delusions
And fractured illusions
Like wasting ivy, still clinging tightly
To the mottled, purple-bruised spaces within

It’s the decayed red of old blood
That has flowed and then congealed
From scarred old wounds
In the fallow fields
Of the innermost corners of your being
It’s the throbbing new cuts of remembrance-pain
That sear you with their scarlet heat
Scorching your insides until there remain
Only the rust-dripping embers of defeat

It’s these mottled hues and grainy textures
Of mangled hearts and hurting souls
Its the piercing, stinging, strangling tightness
In the pit of the stomach, in the back of the throat
In the end, it is all of this
That make up the tinctures of loneliness
That fill up all our sad and desolate spaces.

VERSE|MARDANGI – My Patriarchal Burden

This is A sequel to my earlier verse “Ravaged”.
This piece looks at the complicated nuances of nurture and upbringing, as opposed to the static all-out denunciation of the individual perpetrating familial rape. This piece of writing attempts to highlight the grotesque patriarachy which we have allowed to perpetuate and which has damaged generations of both, our girls and our boys, in its terrible wake.
I am Harris Jan Saleem, the son of Owais Jan Saleem
I am the scion of the Saleem ___ family
I have been raised like all the men in my family:
To hold my dreams high and my head higher
I have been taught that nothing bends that proud bearing. Nothing.

I was 8 when I first saw my father. In Asma apa’s room.
Asma apa is my cousin; my father’s sister’s daughter.
She is 4 years older than me.
I saw him many times; he saw me see him many times.
I learnt tacitly like so much is at home. Nothing needs to be said for it to be understood and emulated.
“It” was a dutiful visit to Asma apa

I was 20 when i too knew that I had to pay a dutiful visit to a woman of the family
She was a feisty one; too independent-minded for her own good. Her mother said so.
I was going to teach her.
I was going to teach her to be Good. To ensure no harm came to our family honour if she got out of hand.
She was 11; she was old enough.

I first visited Sophia on a rainy monsoon afternoon.
The family was surrounded by a haze of food-satiated, heat-fomented stupor;
Each in their own space in the sprawling ancestral home.
That I knew was the congruous ground for the undertaking of such obligations
She was a handful. I almost came away without fulfilling the onus on me of safeguarding the family honour.
But I persisted - it took a chokehold (and I don’t generally believe in inflicting violence on women).
She ceded.
I learnt that the chokehold was a necessary evil. Every time.
(I also realized with time that it wasn’t really violence since I was doing my duty towards upholding the family honour).
There are a slew of such behavioural nuances no one tells you about; which you have to learn on your own.
All of which you perform for upholding the family honour.

One day my father saw me visiting Sophia
Like i had seen him for so many years, visiting Asma apa.
This time he looked at me - with a wisdom of the ages.
And i knew then that we are the MEN of the family.
We are expected to know; to be versed in the DNA prescription passed down in virtuous silence along the patriarchal line.
I felt i had been let into an ancient, sacred secret.
I felt an inexplicable pride in being a Man of the Saleem Jan family

It’s my wedding day today; I’m to wed Sophia
When I was asked if I would marry her, I had said yes.
Although she was ... tainted.
But I was a male scion of the family; a custodian of my family honour.
I was expected to bear that burden of protecting, of upholding the family name.

But I have been deprived of the consummaiton of my marriage.

Today her sister is coming to stay with us,
For the summer.
She is 10 and I think already very much like my wife, in her waywardness ...
Tomorrow I will do my duty to protect my family name
In whatever way i need to -
Tomorrow, and for as long as i live.

De Khudai pe aman

VERSE|I Am Dystopia!

WHEN NATURE ROARS

2020 dawned on us, full of the goodness of even numbers,
Of existential vision perfection, insight, wisdom; all symbolic rumbles,
Of good things to come, of new beginnings and of blithesome continuity,
Of travel and adventure, of togetherness and sunny opportunity.

Just when the new year smile from our lips spread,
To brighten the providential gleam in our eyes,
Mother Nature stepped out of her wooded grove
And resolved to cut all 7 billion of us down to size.
She waved her hoary Staff of Life and brought it down hard to the ground,
And created a little critter amongst us, virile and ergonomically sound.

And then around the globe it traipsed as gleeful as a clam,
Across hills and valleys, fields and plains, aeroplanes and trams;
It skipped across the hot asphalt, into neighbourhood grocery stores;
Hopping along trolley handles, even dancing across binned apple cores;
Nestling onto careless hands, touching sun-kissed faces,
The Covid critter had VOA* for a whole gamut of places.

And then it was a few weeks on, late March, early April
That the malignant, morbid pong arose from the places it had traveled.
Sick and sicker people got, with the older crowd being hit the hardest,
It picked at folks everywhere, taking the killing-spree route that was fastest.
It advanced, armed with its axe and it’s murdering scythe as it went for the weakest,
Ravaging not only bodies, but spirits and souls at its absolute bleakest.

The Covid death knell continued to be tolled as the weeks turned into months;
On and on it butchered and killed on copious, disparate fronts.
They say there’s an existential kind of omen in the raging of this pandemic,
Like a paradoxical panacea for even worse killers that are fundamentally systemic.
Like racial biases, climactic atrocities and economic ills,
They say the Covid has descended upon us to collect on Mothers Nature’s bills.

We owe her for the oceans that are perishing by the hour,
For the dwindling woodland space and the raging forest fires,
For tearing into her lungs with each metric tonne of CO2 emission,
For killing and maiming and cruelly placing her creatures in wretched submission,
For all the unkindness, the hypocrisy and the bigoted beliefs,
She finally stepped in from the depth of the earth to deliver some relief.

While she’s imperceptibly taking back the reins of this planet we call home,
We continue to be caught in the toxic harvest of what we’ve already sown.
She’s spreading her roots like gnarled old ivy across our cities and towns,
Reclaiming, repairing, reviving reforming the blues, the greens and the browns.
Soon her deep dark tendrils will wind around our greed-beleaguered throats,
Choking out the poison, the malady of the spirit that has taken such firm root.

It will be the end of an epoch, but also the start of something new;
An honesty, a tenderness, a Oneness with Nature will slowly start to brew.
For Humanity to thrive again, a death of The Now is essential;
The dreams and motivations caught up in that Now will also become inconsequential.
As Nature beckons us closer to her, one lesson at a time,
The world will poise on a transformational brink while she scours off the grime.

2020 will indeed be the year when Humanity attained perfect vision,
When Mother Nature drew copious blood to finally change our Human Condition.

De Khudai pe aman.

*VoA: Visa on Arrival

VERSE|I Sat Alone with Sadness

I sat alone with Sadness
I felt it’s grainy edges,
I saw it’s grey-bound form,
I touched its dark, dark heart
And then I heard it moan
it’s dolorous dirge.
It whispered of a gloom
that quelled the light inside.
It spoke of a despair
that clung like gnarled old ivy.
It lamented of an anguish
that congealed the blood within.
And i mouldered in the Sadness....

Then it dragged with it the phantoms
of Heartache and Desolation.
And finally it whispered
Of a Final Cessation.
And I listened....
And I crumbled...
And piece by piece, I sank ....
Until I had drowned in my Sadness.

And then the vortex glimmered;
There was promise of some light.
I floundered through the tempest,
Struggling to inhale!
Convulsing with release,
I finally broke the surface,
Of my abysmal grief.

And I wept.... and i wept...
And my ravaged spirit breathed,
As I embraced my Sadness.

De Khudai pe aman