The winter mist is rolling in Casting umbras and penumbras On liquid walls conjuring Illusions of nostalgic things Like tapestries of sunny hills And shadowlands where valleys stretch Into soft concaves Of velvety darkness shimmering At their edges, glimmering In the halos of lit up orbs Glittering, pulsating Watching and observing all Like eager sentries making sure The invading mist Covets no more Than the silver kiss That it bestows On each doorway As it tiptoes In and then away Into the darkness further along All the while As it glides Whispering its vapory song.
We were talking About this and that The conversation meandering Sometimes off the beaten track Into more private realms Reticent spaces holding Secret reflections, introspection Ruminations that had rarely seen The light of day Hesitating, faltering, we walked along That path hewn on the cusp of right and wrong Where perplexing thoughts lay vulnerable, bare And then we heard the call to prayer
She rose with an alacrity borne of custom With velvety smooth liquid motions Like a babbling stream that has No more reason to be but because It can flow gliding in its bed of silt and stone She floated through the ritual Sure, secure in the discerning eyes Of her faithful world. On the outside She had done the needful, the right thing She came back to our conversation Her face shining with virtue, beneficence
But now the doors were closed To the questions that had peeked through The heavy, opaque veils of tradition and goodness Back they had sunk into the clenched depths From which they had inadvertently crept She looked at me with guarded eyes Lest I scratch that surface again Lest she forget what keeps her true and safe
I smiled and she smiled back at me “Have another cup of tea” She said bringing the conversation Back to the glittering streets Of the daily treads of teeming feet And I followed, leaving the track Lit up by mysterious stars and the soul-searching gleam Of the moon that now shone on our backs.
It is with great excitement and pleasure that I introduce my second book for the grownups – my book of poetry and essays titled SHIMMERING SCRAPS OF POETRY AND MADNESS. The book will be available across bookstores in Pakistan and Sri Lanka at the end of December 2022. Friends in SL can currently order it from the Jam Fruit Tree bookstore on Galle Road via call/WhatsApp to 072-7268078.
ABOUT THE BOOK:
This is a collection of poems and essays, humble opinions, rumblings of the heart about the joys, the truths, the pain, the controversies, the funniness and the wonder that criss cross all our lives in one way or another. I have compiled them here because too many times, we are witnesses to profound beauty, love, dreams, desolation, prejudice and injustice and yet, we forget.
The contents of these 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.
Scraps of Poetry and Madness is a phrase borrowed from that literary Wonder Woman, Virginia Woolfe. For in this collection too, there is a stream of raw and strident, passive and ruminative, joyous and grief-bound, mad and glad thoughts that run like a melody through the entirety of its spine; and like a sore-throated bulbul (who also has some good-voice days) I have sung them all for my readers.
Do you sometimes ask yourself if you’re alright Do the burdens of life come down hard on your joy Do all the schemes of gladness that you deploy Seem bound to falter, sink with the sun Making you despair, come undone Do you sometimes wonder if you’ll ever be alright?
Do you sometimes worry if you’re alright If you’re treating your body like it was meant More like a temple, less like a tent Does it respond with resilience and grace Does it show up as a gentle glow on your face Can you smile and say that you’re alright?
Do you sometimes brood about being alright If the crimson, beating, streaming path From your analysing mind to your ruminating heart Is clear and bright and lit up with calm Where thoughts and memories are like comforting balm Do you feel your spirit lift because you’re alright?
Do you feel your atoms dance, your heart sing Then soften to a gentle, constant hum again Do you feel your blood flow in passionate storms And then settle into tranquil crests and falls Do you sometimes in your moments of quiet Feel a gratitude because you’re alright?
I hope that when you lie in your bed at night On the cusp of sleep, with your guard down When your truth shines unfettered, unbound That with your eyes closed you can look within And hear it in every fibre of your being I’m alive, I’m still here, I am alright.
She carried a little bouquet Of golden-hearted nargis* Her face flushed, her eyes bright She was going to make a gift of them To someone special. The bus stop was empty Save the woman with the flowers And me. I had my phone in my hand She sat on the bench waiting Clutching her bouquet I stood nearby, holding my phone Watching her secretly Trying not to spook her But she was mesmerizing In the tender enchantment That surrounded her
The bus was late She sat there almost motionlessly, quietly But the thrum of her joyful energy Was taken up by the gay bouquet As it danced gently in the breeze She wore yellow shalwar kameez* With little white flowers Or were they stars? They were tiny, almost imperceptible So small I was sure even she wouldn’t know But they shimmered in her gaiety She smiled as she adjusted the stems The flowers bobbed back happily She sat there like a painting Full of joy and anticipation
The bus rolled in Carrying its load of passengers I lingered a while to see The recipient of this picture of love That waited brightly on the seat Together we watched people alight People go left and right Until the last passenger stepped down I climbed on, slowly, hesitantly I sat down near a window and looked out The bouquet now lay inertly on the bench Its sunny heart wrenched Where it had been clenched In the ardent embrace of a pair of hands Drenching it in the liquid warmth of love
They were stars, not flowers On her kameez, five-pronged tridents Piercing, lancing, shattering The perfection of beautiful things Hidden, Unbeknownst to her The fault, I was sure, lay in the stars.
* Nargis: Daffodil
* Shalwar kameez: the long shirt and trousers worn by women in Pakistan and India
A haiku is an unrhymed Japanese poetic form that consists of 17 syllables arranged in three lines containing five, seven, and five syllables, respectively. A haiku expresses much and suggests more in the fewest possible words. Trying my hand at the lithe and sinewy art form.
Some gladness, some strife Mixed in with some love and hope Faultless slice of life.
It opens again Haltingly, poundingly, my Newly love-drenched heart.
The light shone, my soul Soared. The monitor too glowed In final farewell.
The pane shudders, shakes In the wind. The pelting rain Renews, whets the pain.
The old men sit snug In their fortressed halls waiting Out the raging storm.
She lay down to rest The crickets were still. There were None six feet under.
The breeze kissed my face Whispering, praying we would Never meet again.
Tea with buttered toast A little sip, a bite, my Broken heart revived.
The wind pulled at him The kite pulled at his laughter Heart in hand they soared.
Mahvash Mohtadullah - The Roaming Desi 