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.
She bubbles and she froths She spills over on the table cloth She frolics and she plays My steaming mug of latte
Voluminous creamy lace Hiding her caffeinated face Her heart swells in youthful glee On the table in front of me.
I read; wait a while; turn a page In latte time, it’s already middle age The lace is tattered, burnt skin showing through The passionate heat has left the brew
Mindful of its waning charm, I grip My mug of latte to take a sip I grimace, the perfect moment has passed I get a mouthful of tepid coffee, alas! She’d sat before me, in gracious state I ignored the moment, realized too late
And so it is with so much in our lives Rich with serendipity, with do-overs rife But we sit back ignoring the universe Rueing our luck - ‘Our fate is cursed!’ Opportunities come and pass us by ‘It’s just God’s will’ we blame it on high
But here’s the truth, simple and clear The passivity, the stupor is unfounded fear So as each opportubity bubbles and froths Onto your life’s pristine table cloth Know this is your moment to make your own Reach out to receive it before it has flown.
KINDNESS, it’s such a simple thing And yet we speak of it like it was the benevolence of kings DIGNITY, such a basic quality And yet we are in awe of it like it was the Pope’s homily COURAGE, that gritty stuff of warriors! We speak of it like it was an unmasterable barrier HONESTY, its whiteness, and its shades of grey Always so elusive, like catching the sun’s rays Being SELF-AWARE, that dialogue with one’s core Only Maharishis* can ever open up that door
Depleting self-suggestion tells us How unconquerable are the odds Of mastering these exalted traits; This stuff of Allamahs* and gods. Look within yourself and tell me That you don’t see the shimmer Of all these “divine” elements Some bright, some a little dimmer
It’s time to wrap yourself in your kindness and dignity To feel the potent warmth of your courage and honesty That is you, that’s how you were built to be Take your inertia and your self doubt And finally throw them out to sea.
* Maharishi: A great Hindu sage or spiritual leader
* Allamah: An honorary and prestigious title carried by only the very highest scholars of Islamic thought, jurisprudence, and philosophy. It is used as an honorific in Sunni Islam as well as in Shia Islam. Allamah is a leader for the Islamic faith.
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.
The Aye Aye is a primate That lives in Madagascar She lives in trees and won’t come down No matter how nicely you ask her
She has big round yellow eyes That are her torches in the night They help her look for juicy bugs That are hiding out of sight
Tap tapping with her fingers long She knocks on the trunks of trees She’s quite polite and lady-like And will enter with an “If you please”
But once she finds some insects She quickly rips away the bark Then she sits on a cozy branch Enjoying her bug-feast in the dark / To dine finely in the dark?
For fun she scampers all along The branches of the trees Her squirelly tail like a balancing rail Helps her jump very easily
And that’s the tale of this creature odd That looks like a little bear The Aye Aye with her shining eyes That lives in Madagascar
There was once a spider small He was only a quarter inch tall But what he lacked in height and strength He made up for with his confidence
He was quite a gifted dancer A funny leg shaker, a cheerful prancer He had bright blue and red stripes on him This happy little spider called Sparklemuffin
Sparklemuffin was always showing off His marvellous dance skills to his lady loves And when he was being especially cute He’d wave his dancing legs all about
He’d wiggle and waggle his body around Sending love signals through the ground The girls would twitter upon their twigs As Sparkly danced his wonderful jigs
Then the ladies would all cheer and clap As he finally shook open his belly flap He’d shimmy and shake, wave his legs all eight He’d get all the ladies into quite a state!
His show done, he’d climb up on the fence And bow and smile for his audience You’ll never see a funnier drama king Than the rocking and rolling little sparklemuffin.
Dumbo was an octopus Who lived on the ocean floor He was the cutest little thing And had big floppy ears
But they were not really ears you see Just fins that flopped about He looked like Dumbo the elephant So that’s also the name he got
Dumbo the little cephalopod Was as lonely as can be He didnt mind the zero sunshine But how he wished for some company!
One day while nibbling on some snails Wondering what colour to wear that day He spied a stranger floating above Had another octopus come down to play?
He umbrella-drifted towards his new friend Blowing bubbles along the way He gaily waved his eight tentacles But the stranger kept floating away
Dumbo blinked and saw that he had Mistaken a bunch of old seaweed For a buddy who’d play fun games with him Diving, swimming and hide ‘n’ seek
He decided to wear [put your favorite color here] that day Changing the colour of his skin Dumbo knew that some day soon He would drift into his best friend.
This started out as a children’s poem and ended on a not so PG-13 note. (Or maybe I’m being overly protective of our 21st century babes who are not so much in the woods as we were!). Anyway, reproducing it here for my readers. Let me know what you think. Cheers.
There was once a teabag The orange pekoe kind More shy and timid little leaves Would be hard to find
She sat in her little bowl With all her other tea friends Raspberry and watermelon And Lemon tea with mint
They tried to talk to O. Pekoe But she would turn away Wrapping her little string around Her cream coloured sachet
Then one day the tea bags saw The handsome Earl grey gent He sat in his silver foil Scented and Elegant
They looked at him whispering And twirling their little strings While O. Pekoe sat primly there Now and then peeking at him
Then came the lady of the house And put the kettle on The teabags rustled in suspense Who’d Earl Grey have along?!
Earl Grey sat gracefully Inside the china cup Wearing his special perfume Waiting for his tea time love
And then out of the blue Orange pekoe was lifted up And placed alongside Earl Grey In the pretty China cup
They smiled at one another Their strings twirling in love The perfect pair to ever make The nicest tea in a cup.
To those who are blissfully wed, may no ones words or odes tear you asunder; to those who are still unshackled, forewarned is forearmed; to those who are in blissless contractual unions, here’s more food to ruminate, ponder and fret over 🤓
Someone asked me why we love, the way we love; Someone asked me, self-consciously, hesitantly of Traditional bonds of loving; of contracts galore, Of inviting in the government to tamper and explore That which is so personal; the workings of the heart; Of sanctioned forces barging in and prying it all apart.
I listened with a quickening of my own protesting heart I too had felt these candid rumblings from the very start; I had also walked down the same traditionalistic aisle; I too had been a part of its teeming rank and file; I too had signed on dotted lines, confirming legalese, That made a mockery of the love, respect and dignity.
It’s almost like Humanity is bound to slip and fall; To devolve into barbarity; to sputter and to stall. The only way to save us is to firmly bind us down In sacrosanct bondage; in virginal robes and gowns. Genuine love, self respect, honesty and choice Are not the sounds of virtue; nor the devotional Voice Of all the great faiths that in their wisdom divine Have instructed us exactly on how to walk the blessed line.
Someone asked me why we love the way in which we do So bound in ceremony; counter-intuitive to the truth. Someone asked me why we could not just trust Our own sense of right and wrong; our own moral compass. Marriage - I too wondered about this absurd and quirky norm That duly institutionalises us before we can be with someone. Is it well intentioned business that has sadly gone awry? Or is it another patriarchal construct; a powerful, pervasive lie? I’m still trying to discern its gameplan; its true wherefore and why But the enigma continues to survive; and we continue to comply.
Mahvash Mohtadullah 