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.
The goddess of the hunt is asleep She does not walk tonight Not a leaf nor a cat, a branch or a bat Is awake or stirring outside
But there are nights and even days When the woodland is alive With the whip and whoosh and the ta-zing Of her powerful arrows in flight
Artemis protects women and girls And animals with hooves and wings It is true, that she hunts them too The animals, not the human beings!
She also has healing powers The flu, measles or the mumps Don’t have a chance when she’s around She’ll pull you right out of the dumps
She is the goddess of nighttime Of nature, moonlight and dew She can transform into any creature She can turn you into one too!
With her silver bow she is just grand A huntress like her is rare She never ever misses her mark Be it a mean wizard or a hare
Sometimes Artemis spends time with her twin Apollo the god of music and light The woods are filled with laughter and song And barbecues through the night.
Beautiful, strong and regal That’s how this goddess is described She is the queen of all the gods And helps families unite
Although she is a champion Of women and their lives Her heart is full of poison For her husband’s many lies
She is married to grand old Zeus Who loves being with the ladies Hera has tried with all her might To send him off to Hades*
But the god of death cannot best Zeus and his lightning bolt So Hera now tortures her step children With punishements untold
When Hera is having a good day She is sweet, gentle and kind The cow, the peacock and the cucukoo Shine as her symbols divine
But when she is angry with Zeus She is as jealous as a goose Zeus says sorry and stands on his head And then finally there is a truce
Along with Zeus and his lightning bolt Hera lives with her cuckoo and crown She reigns from above on mount Olympus But to earth, she rarely comes down.
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 