When I look inside of you Into the very depths of you Do you know what I see? Two stormy mushroom clouds Looming wetly in your eyes Grey harbingers of doom They roil and linger in the room I’m afraid; I’m mesmerized Then Boom! Everything is gone In the ferocity Of your atom bomb Atomic, Anatomic, Catatonic The fearsome stillness after the storm Your atoms ravaged out of form
When I look inside of you I see vanquished fields beneath The clouds of smoke and acid rain I see the skeletons of trees The mucid ashes of flowers and bees They were rustling, bustling, hustling Their atoms dancing merrily You plucked each atom from its orbit In the fierceness Of your tragedy Calamity, Catastrophe You heaved your mighty weight upon it Smote your world beneath your feet
When I look inside of you I see the heaving cosmos Suns and planets whirling, swirling In the vast blue-blackness of space Meteors like fireworks Blazing exultant trails Shimmering tails, star-burnished sails The firmament a holy grail You crush the heavens in your fist You flick your angry blue-bruised wrist The sky comes crashing down Molten lava on the ground Seismic vapor all around I can taste it in my mouth
But when I look at you from here You sit there statue-still Not an ayelash moves at all You are transparent, mystical Ethereal, apparitional But within Clandestine, Hidden There are ragged storms Carrying sand and ice alike I feel a chill in my bones And all of hell’s feverous might And all the while you look at me Your skin shrouded in serenity While in a loop, relentlessly You break and shatter on the inside.
My thoughts sometimes Become like rebellious kids They dart about my head Swarm into my hippocampus Making me sweat I race after them Calling to them But they don’t heed me They’re chimerical beings Elves and pixies and aliens Coins and marbles and peeling paint A stubbed toe, a tired saint A fierce cupid on a fountain Rose bushes that run riot And then I just lose sight Of them at all I hear the silence Numbing, thrumming, sometimes strumming Through my brain
Then I see them again They’re out on the streets They’ve run free, leaving me behind They’ve escaped the prison of my mind I watch them from afar Tumbling around Laughing, skipping, rumbling around Moaning, groaning, fumbling around Far away from me I’m featherlight now I float above them Like I’m dead The leaden weight of life Has dropped I watch it tumble with my thoughts Rumble, tumble, sometimes stumble In its frantic vitality
I’m timeless, sadless, gladless now E m p t y I float away In a silent conspiracy Of air and nothingness.
Dappled sunlight Upon my skin Warm, streaming motes Kiss my neck My arms, my face Whispering sweet nothings Caressing, comforting My shoulders drop The weight of the world That sits on them Like twin rocks I’m no longer Atlas Holding up the sky Shivering In its storminess Legs quivering Under its burden of sighs And tears and loss For now It has all melted away The coldness, the heaviness, the grey For now There is only a quiet joy A rainbow sprinkling Of dappled sunlight Upon my skin Thawing me, warming me From within.
Reading from my book of short stories, “THE GIRL WITH THE PAISLEY DUPATTA”. The book is available at Sarasavi, Barefoot, Jam fruit Tree, Expographics and Pendi in Sri Lanka and at Readings, Liberty Books and Paramount Books in Pakistan.
Many of the stories in this book are from outside the bell curve of our lives, embracing sensitive social elements that are spoken of either in subdued whispers or not at all: from the brutal vigilante justice dispensed in the name of religion in “The Gods of Fury”; to the harrowing custom of honour revenge in the “Sins of our Fathers”; to the patriarchal ruthlessness that so many young women are subjected to in the title story “The Girl with the Paisley Dupatta”.
Some of the other stories are of women and men negotiating life, love, friendship, careers and tradition in the sometimes tumultuous and many times limiting folds of their families and their communities: from the enterprising love affair of 61 year old Nighat in “Love in Rawalpindi”; to the shenanigans of a dancing queen in “Riotous Love”; to the complicated friendship between two middle aged unmarried society girls in “Days of Purgatory”.
She looks at the leaf Its serrated edges holding together A cosmos of possibilities Of alternate realities Of burgeoning opportunities She looks at a vein A cholorophyllated pathway of dreams A vital, verdant, emerald seam Running like a stream From the heart of the leaf to one serrated edge
Nearest To her wrist
Where her own veins have seared a path Specific, stark Chiseled from the magma of predestined fate Pre-blessed, pre-set, per-fected Once a rolling ocean of fluid dreams Now quiet, grief-stained, shadowy seams Of still water that never skips Never dances; it stays gripped Even as it drips In the finite space of one blue-purple vein
There’s someone you see who can use your help Above and beyond the 2.5 percent That has been made obligatory on you By forces of faith, of habit now too Don’t think twice because you have done Your duty as prescribed by the One Go ahead, give some extra, don’t hesitate Don’t hesitate. Heaven can wait
You’re going on your blessed Hajj number two You’ve been good, devout and true But the farmer working in your fields He needs a liver transplant critically He looks to you for a helping hand Should you divert funds from your pilgrimage plans? You’re caught up in a quandary of faith Don’t hesitate. Heaven can wait
The colony that you pass everyday The one with the shanties, a riot of grey It’s residents are different, they don’t share your beliefs But you’ve spoken to some, you’re aware of their dreams Should you give of your blessed prestige To those who believe in a separate deity? God’s benevolence does not discriminate Don’t hesitate. Heaven can wait
When you feel pulled in directions unique That speak to your heart abundantly But seem to lie in realms that are On the twilit edges of well trodden paths Still your cacophonous heart, and listen To the flow of lifeblood in your veins Let it take you up the streams it creates Don’t hesitate. That’s where heaven waits.
This is a fond tribute to all the microscosms of colonial design and demeanour/ architecture and attitude that continue to faithfully roost in various cities across what was once the coveted Jewel in the Crown.
I’m having a day that’s making me feel More sterile than a beetle on its back I’m walking on the thin side Of breaking down, losing sight Of my psychedelic, privileged life I need some of the forgetting tonic That Pir Buksh so expertly whips up That makes me happy, schizophrenic With every sip and every glug I drink the potion, and I duly grow My Abs synth-esizing my lost bravado
Suddenly they’re all like flies On the periphery of my eyes They cease to make me wince and curse They cease to be a part of my universe I sit back, bark an order In Bloodhound, German shepherd tones Throw a carcass, throw some bones Throw a tantrum for good measure The club becomes a pyramid I’m at the top, the very apex Those hoisiting it upon their shoulders The club like a majestic boulder Matter not, they sit there Like a pile of boring underwear They’ve seen it all but you don’t care They keep it all precisely together The erstwhile jewels in their imperial leather
“One more!” I shout in thundering tones “Absinth me up quick bartender!” Before I lose the precious threads Of the delicate lace of elegance Pir Bukhsh gives me some more manna From the counter in the shadows And I swallow and I glide In the throes of happy amnesia The absinthe in the Ab-sind club Makes me feel so damn superi-a Heavens be praised I’ve had a day Like I’m lord of a castle in the UK Indeed, the last few hours have made me feel Like a hero in a Bollywood reel.
Are you ready? said he softly I was sitting and watching tv For what? I asked full well knowing The implications of that simple question
For your journey onwards from here He said quietly in my ear I stared ahead, I couldn’t look Into eyes that held the whole cosmos
I still have things to do I said Even as my heart filled with dread I still have dreams and wishes said I Even as I felt my mouth go dry
He waited watching me silently His shadow was now a part of me I took a breath and looked at him His eyes looked back serene, glowing
I cried, I am afraid to leave Even if I have always believed That one day I must walk away Wrapped in death’s final embrace
But that faith has always surrounded me On the outside, while inside of me Has grown a choking, gnawing terror Of the day that you would appear
He took my hand and held it fast My hand in his we touched my heart The blue-gray fear that sat in there Evaporated into the air
I felt my soul for the first time Floating, thrumming, humming inside I smiled even as the tears flowed Silver, sparkling, love- hallowed
I laughed, I cried, I laughed again Life was beautiful even at the end I loosened the strings bound to the past And closed my eyes as I breathed my last.
My book SHIMMERING SCRAPS OF POETRY AND MADNESS is now available at the following locations:
SRI LANKA: - THE BAREFOOT BOOKSTORE - THE JAM FRUIT TREE BOOKSTORE - PENDI - SARSASAVI BOOKSTORES (Available by next week) - EXPOGRAPHICS (Available by next week)
PAKISTAN: - LIBERTY BOOKS - PARAMOUNT BOOKS - READINGS
ABOUT THE BOOK:
The book is a collection of poems and essays, and as the name suggests, the contents of the 243 pages range from the sublime to the ridiculous; from soaring on the wings of ecstacy to struggling with overwhelming despair; from the capricious joys of matrimony to the dubious delights of singledom; from the profound ecstasy in a mug of steaming latte to the ardent disappointment in a less than perfectly brewed cup of tea; from the comedic to the somber and from the customary to the controversial, this collection of poems and features encompasses them all, and like a sore-throated bulbul (who also has some clear-voice days) I have sung them all for you.
Mahvash Mohtadullah - The Roaming Desi 