I have lost the rituals Of faith. But my devotion has Become stronger. I no longer Am afraid or confused by questions that Whirl around in my head Never to be brought into existence Their very substance damning Pounding, hammering a path to (h)elsewhere I now wear a cloak about My shoulders. It holds a super power A texture all its own. When I’m alone It reminds me of who I am. It fosters my introspection It champions who I want to be And then I feel No other burden of pretense Or suspense No fear of consequence For being so much more And ritualizing less I have no dire need to find my Hallowed steed to gallop on with Me holding on, bound for paradise. This life, this blessed life is mine To treat with such passion Such tenderness, that earth Itself becomes the Eden I seek. My paradise is under my own feet.
For all the women and the men supporting them; for all those who get up every morning and despite all odds make it through the day surviving, shining, rising. For the families and friends of Sara, Mahsa, Noor, Qurat Ul Ain and of the countless nameless others like them: your grit is everything.
When it’s been tormenting Day after day. With no respite And I just don’t have it in me to fight To battle on When I’m war-weary When there is no end in sight And all I want to do Is sit in a dark room And let its coolness shroud me Until I can feel the hair Stand on my skin. There Is suddenly more to the day Than the heaviness in my heart And the endlessness of the grey That has been flowing, gripping choking me Keeping me doubled down on my knees There’s more beyond that malevolent mein Images, memories driving me insane
Now -
Now there is also something On the outside of me A little chill A little photo on the window sill Both pull at me in different ways One makes icicles That sear through The magma that has congealed Inside of me The other makes my blood flow warm Streaming, coursing through my veins Reminding me that I am home My spirit and my fortitude Still cloak my shoulders Strong and true I sit up straight As they reverberate Through every atom of my being And they chant An age old song Of others like me Who’ve fought on Their hearts fused forever With the ones that have gone And I know That I’m not wielding my sword alone
Oh look at that beautiful dragonfly It’s turning somersaults It’s peacock coloured gossamer wings Perfect; without fault! But you didn’t catch the fleeting glimpse It bestowed upon this scene You were on your phone lost in Digital worlds upon your screen
Did you see that butterfly Just sit upon my arm Brown and orange-yellow wings It was full of golden charm! You missed its quickening beauty As it said hello and went You were caught in your own loop Eyes down, heart still, head bent
I had to hold my breath there That scene was so sublime The grand eagle swooping down And then soaring back up high! Where, where? you ask me now As you look at an empty sky You were fretting, agitating As nature sprang her wondrous surprise
Glittering dragonflies, murmurations Eagles in majestic flight A shower of blossoms, a ladybird loveliness Nature exulting in life Magical, mystical, shimmering marvels Surround us at all times Some of us get to revel in their beauty Some stay trapped by Sentinel Time
I go to the kitchen and switch on the light A hazy, 5 watt bulb warms to life I then put the kettle on And while it sings its little song I fix my square blue-flowered tray Strainer, spoon and a little bowl And one of my mugs adds to the whole With a pinch of the most fragrant earl grey It sits in its saucer and awaits The steamy pour from the spout Of the kettle as the water gushes out
Onto the teabag it flows in a rush Steaming vapour billowing up The mug is filled almost to the brim Just enough space for milk, not skimmed (Low fat is the best I can do Playing around with tea is taboo!) Then the iris-strewn tea tray goes To the lounge, loaded with its amenities In all of this, as its centrepiece My mug puts on a steamy show
It blows kisses in fragrant plumes Sending them wafting across the room I kiss it back with my first sip It’s the one that has the scalding nip I close my eyes as it slides down My throat, searing the flesh around But that is the pleasure of tea drinking A self-immolation fit for a king
* ICARUS: One of the most famous tragic figures in Greek mythology, his story highlights the dangers of excessive pride/ fixation. Although he was warned by his father not to fly too high, Icarus became overexcited and flew too close to the sun, causing his wings (made by his father,from feathers and wax) to melt and leading to his untimely death. This is a bit of satire on the old Greeks of mythology.
There was once a young woman She had this special thing One can’t call it love you see The Sun was her heart’s king
She’d look up at the sky all day In spring and then in summer Winter woes came down in throes Not seeing him was a bummer
But she’d then glue her sun-sick eyes Upon the tele-vusion Watching classics and Sci-Fi Of beaches and nuclear fusion
(Fission, I admit, is a grander term But it’s a small explosion Through staid old Fusion doth the sun Make Helium from Hydrogen)
One day on her 60th birthday She’d had it with long distance She put her crafty hands to work She wasn’t losing one more instant
She made herself some silver wings With aluminium and nylon string And then up to the roof she went To flap, flap up to her king
It was probably mind over matter that Got her five feet above the roof The Sun finally said “Icarus in your 35th Incarnation, you’re still a goof”.
The Roaming Desi 