Known as the blacksmith of the gods Hephaestus controls fire He can mould metals into any shapes And things that he desires
This god of fire can also breathe life Into all his metal creations He’s made two golden ladies who help him They are both quite a sensation!
His workshops are many, countless in fact Every volcano has one, we are told He and his maidens make knickknacks and weapons Of bronze and silver and gold
The tools that Heaphestus uses to build Fabulous things in his workshop Are also his symbols of magic and power The hammer, the anvil and tongs
Some say he’s married to Aphrodite The goddess of beauty and love Whether she loves him back in fact We really cannot be sure of
Hephaestus is the only god of Olympus Who is lame and can’t really walk But that doesn’t stop him from being A great and powerful Greek god
So next time you see a particularly Beautiful piece of metal art You will know that in some volcano Hephaestus is working hard.
We have all, at some time or another been overwhelmed, overpowered, bested by our grief, anxiety and wretchedness. At those times, some of us have also been lucky enough to have that one place where we have, for a while, found some degree of quietude and peace. This is a tribute to those secret little places and spaces of comfort and healing in our lives.
There is this wooden bench I like It’s not fancy, quite the common type Cloaked in by the dappled canopy Of a gracefully pirouetting Mara tree It sits in the park like a dear old friend Its well-worn embrace ever welcoming A young couple walks up, caught in the grips of wrath Love is lost, it’s the wretched aftermath Words are exchanged until the fury’s spent Frustration - Anxiety - Sadness - Silence Then they sit downon the wooden bench … Slowly muscles relax and nerves untense Even if it is a passing interlude Loads are lightened, hearts are soothed.
Wild flowers grow lushly around its feet Bobbing bright heads to earth’s vital beat The bench sits there like a quiet friend It’s well-worn seat ever welcoming A man sits down in a state of unease Holding on to his hat in an errant breeze He picks up his phone and looks at the screen The unlit glass reflects the tranquil scene … He looks up and around him his brow somewhat eased Fleeting albeit, he’s found his moment of peace.
Songful birds and their terrestrial friends Roam warbling and chittering around the bench Hoping for a serendipitously fallen treat They browse busily around the seat A wheelchair-bound man looks up at an overcast sky His female companion already has water in her eyes They sit side by side in worlds of their own Reminiscence weighs heavy of days that are gone A mynah trills as a light drizzle falls And a sweet petrichor briefly dispels the pall … The man looks at her, takes her hand and she smiles For now they’re alright, tomorrow is still a while.
I too have sat in nature’s restoring arms On that bench where she weaves her alchemical charms I too have unburdened my hopes and my fears I too have laid my bursting heart bare And I have heard her soothing murmurs That have quietened my deepest despair I’ve looked into her soft eyes from that corner in the park For a time, my soul too has emerged from the dark … The clouds have parted, the sun has shone through And I’ve breathed more easily, sitting on that wooden pew.
I wake up today There’s a keening in my heart It sits there familiarly Waiting for me To take its hand and walk with it Feel its ardor, talk to it Make it wholly, soully mine
But the lethargy that is life Has been pulling for a while At my seams, they’ve come undone I cannot find it in me now To acknowledge this someone This something that looks at me With glowing eyes, dark and deep
I stay aware of it But like a balm I keep it topical Let it rouse me for a while With dreams of higher things Dire things, of touching lives Even a few, maybe just two Or even just one …
But now I have also learnt To preserve myself That strain of goodness Stands no chance In the dulling sludge of circumstance And a will that’s willowy Bendable, collapsible And so when it stares at me A cosmos of possibilities I look away But I stay aware Of its unsettling symmetry
It’s easier this way As the days spill Into each other Unremarkable I tell myself at least I’m not Doing anything to hurt the lot Humankind, neighbours, the child Snotty-nosed running wild In the streets where a mother sits On the pavement resigned Circled by dead dreams and things Spaces that once gleamed with hope And all the while I tell myself At least my intentions are good.
This poem is written from 2 separate perspectives of 2 different people sitting in a cafe. Oftentimes, in our beautiful world, inner and outer imperfections can become calming, comforting and even uplifting.
I see her in the cafe She’s sitting on her own Like me A cup of coffee Rests in front of her Lines huddle in the space between her brows They’re furrowed now In some private grief or anxiety Only her cup knows for sure As she stares into the darkness within Her lips tremble for a moment Just a bit. She takes a quick sip Of the vitalising potion Swallowing her emotions Down they both go The sadness and the coffee Lingering on the inside now I feel my heart go out to her It hovers around her table Softly, silently, wordlessly I want to follow too But we are strangers It wouldn’t do She looks up. She sees me I smile and then I look away guiltily Outside the window And then down at my own cup of tea
I see her looking at me Just a glance, a little look Then away from the nook I am sitting at But that little exchange is everything Even in that whisper Of a gaze, that smile I feel her compassion Shimmering around me Gently, silently, comfortingly I look at her as she sits there In her wheelchair Reminding me that frailty Is never on the outside Her own courage shining bright Has skipped across the room Transforming into a tenderness Shattering my spell of gloom My heart lifts and wafts out to her I want to follow after But we are strangers I turn back to my cup And I smile I hesitate just for a while And then I beam across the room to her My heart now light with gratefulness Lit up by a beautiful stranger
Mahvash Mohtadullah 