Outside in the garden There’s a Passion flower vine Its little green tendrils Have curled here and there Where the shoots are fullest Lushest, most verdant They burgeon and grow Weaving circles of rapture Until they’ve spun around Seven times Lighting up the chakras of life And then just like that Their work done Of dancing in the sun They fall
Inside the house There’s a woman Her hair Is tied up in a bun She’s on the run With little tendrils escaping At the nape of her neck She’s rushing upstairs There’s a toddler emergency And then she races like the wind Into the kitchen To make breakfast And then she’s on the run again Appointments, to-do lists, errands To complete And then back to cook and clean To feed and coddle, kiss a bruised knee
The hours weave their set design Finite, regimented, organized But she has no sense Of their texture or lines The day is done and finally She sits down for a while Soft tendrils forming At the nape - one, two, three I hold my breath I count the whorls in the curls The longest one has six I look away A little thought flits up to me Unexpectedly, a sign Whispering secrets I don’t want to hear Of endings on the whorl-bearing vine
She smiles at me tiredly I wish, I wish fervently That the curls that gather Loosely around her neck Is just hair soaked in sweat In the labour of love I pray, I pray silently Into the depths of whatever’s out there God, the universe, ethereal energy For the moisture laden curls to weave Their mystical circles for a few more years Until they attest To a life well-lived, joyfully Until they wear their silver-grey majesty Before they finally Unspool in eternal rest.
I wish this verse was more wholesome and whimsical like Robert Frost’s “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening”, but that it is not. This is about women determinedly forging on across streets, bazaars, workplaces, government offices, neighbourhoods and communities. This verse is also not so much about the woman hopeful of change (God knows that’s going to take its time in our blessed homeland), but the woman who is stoic and steadfast. It is the woman who goes about her day despite the odds that pull at her body, spirit and soul. It is the woman who dares to bare her true self despite and in fact because society expects otherwise. It is the woman who walks in her neighborhood afraid yet brave. May you find your grit and your grace for the rest of the days of your life.
A resolute, meaningful Women’s Day to all my friends and family 🌺
I wear my track pants And a pink shirt, long It says “Life is a song” I wonder if it’s too loud Stoking thoughts like a gong A shout To the world of men that teams about The streets Eyes peeled For glimpses of variously clad Women that are mad Enough to sidle into the periphery of their sight And special leery gazes Trained like full-throttled tasers On women who dare To bare More than the hand wrist down Or a smidgeon of a toe around Which sits an uncomfortable sandal A Soleful reminder To walk cautiously To always look behind her To shrink as small as she is able So she might pass With a warning glance From the men sitting around Jenetic Judges of right and wrong
For the women who dare To bare There’s a special gaze For their fall from grace From the fraternity that mills about The corners of streets Superior, upright Pissing in plain sight Marking their territories For the women who dare to bare More than the eyes Downcast, demure Vacuous and pure For them there’s the death stare Cutting them down to size I’m one of those Who - Dares - To - Bare The woman within The whole human being Self assured, aware She sits in my eyes Unfaltering, dignified Even as her heart drums inside As she traverses that den Of wolves, dressed as men.
There have been extra days of rain Delaying the heat of the approaching summer In spontaneous, joyful Shimmering showers It has streamed down or drizzled for hours There has been a surge of butterflies Yellow, brown, blue and white Flitting all over the place Happy for a few more days Of life and vitality I see them floating among the flowers Cavorting in spring-lavished bowers Treading warm currents of air Over pavements where the cracks Are speckled with dancing weeds Over an emerald oasis of grass Loop-de-looping when they pass Another bloom That’s sprung up between the blades Glorious, serendipitous Delirious on springtime bliss They somersault back To bestow a nectary kiss On soft, dewy petal lips Beating gossamer wings Evanescent, paper-thin Revelling in bountiful life The inevasible heat A distant ordeal For now in their bejewelled flights The spring-born butterflies In pure rapture will remain Celebrating the extra days of rain.
I was lost I took the path Less trodden, I tossed Away the ease Of normalcy I walked away Off the street that carried feet Teeming, streaming busily Easily, its metalled gray Smooth and safe, predictable
I’d felt strong, invincible I walked away Aimlessly, Trail-lessly, No signs, no familiarity I walked I walked Directionless, solitary On and on I walked and walked Until doubts and insecurities Snaked hoary tendrils around me But I walked on until my feet Were bruised and cut Until they bled Until I wept
================================ Until I had forged a road ahead ==================================
It now lies cleaved and gravelly With little grooves Once stained with blood And squelching mud Filled up With wild flowers now Sun dappled through swaying boughs The path ahead of me Now gleams with its own lambency
I was lost I left the path oft-trodden, I crossed Into uncharted territory Where the wilderness roamed free Lit up by the gleam of stars And the warmth of cherished dreams There I carved my own way Hope-hewn, Grit-laden, Endlessly It now stretches out in front of me.
There’s a shop down the street Where you can buy consciences Gentle pin pricks around your heart For when you want to sense something For when you want to feel A tiny paper cut, a delicate weal Most times you buy a numbness though Cloaked in velvety greys and yellows They’re tailor-made to fit around Your never-racing, constant heart And your ever-racing, chasing mind The greater you can muster Put down on the counter The finer the swaddle To enshroud your qualms To feel the vaguest of twinges Of right and wrong When to see and when to be Sightless, without sound Unconscious, uncurious, asleep In the thick, creamy fabric Numbingly, comfortingly bound Gut-driven compass buried deep Six feet below the ice and the snow The tsunamis, the floods and the hurricanes The droughts, the disease, the misery Interred in darkness, entombed underground In the meantime there’s a shop that sells Custom-built, free-of-guilt scruples in town.
When life gets hard as it sometimes does When the weight of the world is pulling you down When you want to hide in the depths of your bed When you don’t want your feet to touch solid ground
When you want to close your eyes and just disappear And hope that in some dimensional shift You can escape the world that surrounds you here That you can find the cosmic ether that fits
When you have to part your hesitant lids And the effort is excruciating, difficult When despite your aching, your most ardent yen There’s no secret exit, no miracle
When you bring your hand up to your sleep-shrouded face When you glance accusingly at the lines When you wonder if ever they would become Prophets, purveyors of better times
When you finally rise and breathe deeply in When you feel the pulse of your blood again When the vestigial coolness of your room Brushes up familiarly against your warm skin
Then know that although the odds are stacked Up sky high, crushing, overwhelming That the universe still holds you close to her breast That there are still songs that she will sing
So when life gets hard as it sometimes does When your heavy heart has robbed you of your smile Slow down, pull back from the rush of life Dearest one, take the road less travelled for a while.
There’s a face in the shadows Downcast, serene A quiet glow drapes The rest of her As she sits cross-legged On the floor She holds the cosmos in her prayerful hands I want to see the face so full of quiet grace I want to understand Where the woman gets Her stillness from I tilt my head to see More clearly And then two shimmering orbs Rise from under their lidded veils I hold my breath I’m no longer Watching from the outside in I float I glide out of the place I’m light as a feather I rise up there’s no tether To time and space To anything I have ever known I float on And I drop The sharp edged angst that I had held In my chest and in my head And it falls Away from me I stretch out my arms I rise and rise Into the infinity Of those glimmering eyes Through twin portals To my paradise.
There’s a girl in the sunset Her hair is ablaze Her dupatta streams In the arid breeze I can’t see her face I catch my breath She stands there still, so still I see the horizon seethe and rage Scorch her in its red-hot rampage I close my eyes I’m afraid to look Afraid to see the heavens burn Afraid to see the ashes blown Of the girl that is standing there alone
But then
My stinging eyelids fly open, I see She’s still there She looks back at me The blaze of the sun Now a shimmering red Halo around her head Like a crown. She won’t go down When her world careens When her world burns all around Grey smoke rising from the sea Of charred, asphyxiated dreams She stands there serene She gathers the light around her being She smiles, she gleams She is the fire queen.
The thing with moments Is that they never stay Vaporous, ethereal They alight and fly away They come upon us On gossamer whispery wings Or rush with such force That you’re left reeling The breath knocked out of you And then they’re gone Or they cloak you silently So imperceptibly Like the lengthening shadows Of eventide That you realize That they were there Only after they have quietly Melted into yesterday’s dawn
The thing with moments Is that they never last Always on nimble feet They are fleeting pin pricks upon your skin A quick rush of warmth within The lungs for a moment collapsing A vanishing scene The stuff of dreams Always receding But not before leaving Their forever tattoos In reds, yellows and blues A kiss, a hug, a bruise Eternal imprints on the heart Emotional ink Permanent, piercing Sunk deeply in By the wraiths and ghosts Of moments past.
Mahvash Mohtadullah 