It’s Strange How some people call all the shots For you and me; on what’s right and what’s not On how we should all live our lives On what we should want to grow and to thrive And we follow them like so many mice The Pied Piper surely leaves us no choice
It’s Strange How some nations are on top of their game And others continually parry insults and blame Some swirl around in their blood, sweat and tears While others race on winds of good cheer And yet we stand by like so many sheep The First World Dream will not let us be
It’s Strange How the spirit of our humanity Has gone into permanent servitude For the battle of egos of the few Losing our grip on what’s right and true And we circle around like so many moths Burning our wings in the flames of their wrath
It’s Strange How hard it has become of late To step out of the comfort of the bell curve Created to kill off the being that’s you Teaching you how you must hate and love And we fight on like so many soldiers sore Thinking one more battle will win us the war
It’s Strange Even as I write these lines A question skips on the edge of my mind No, there are two for misery loves company Who’ll tell me the answers that I seek to find - When did the glow inside me cease to exist? When did Instinct and Courage let go of my wrists?
The Polaris or the North Star is part of Ursa Minor’s tail and is located above the North Pole. Sailors and other people traveling at night have long used Polaris to tell which way is north.
There was once a shiny patch Of seven little stars She was called the Ursa Minor You couldn’t see her from afar
One day Father Chaos Came whooshing on a gale He plucked away the littlest star In Ursa Minor’s tail
The Little Bear felt wonky And then her head, it drooped Ursa Major huffed and puffed Her baby did not look good!
Mother Cosmos felt the pain In Ursa Major’s sighs She floated out the window Of her castle in the sky
“What do we have here now Ursa Minor’s lost a star? Oh skies of blue, that just won’t do! Let’s see now - Here you are!”
With that she waved a kindly hand And opened up her fist And dropped a sheeny shiny star The brilliant Polaris
Ursa Minor looked at her tail As it shone near and far Many a traveller now finds her way In the twinkle of her North Star
Golden Repair or Kintsugi is the Japanese art of repairing broken pottery by mending the areas of breakage with lacquer dusted or mixed with powdered gold, silver or platinum.
There was once a china mug He was some twelve years old He’d done a very good job Holding drinks both hot and cold
Over the years the china mug Had seen his share of strain His rim was chipped in two places He had permanent tea stains
But he was quite a trooper He never lost his smile Even when the bright new mugs Would tease him all the while
One day the lady of the house Was wiping down the sink Her hand hit the china mug And down he went crashing
He lay in five odd pieces Across the kitchen floor The lady picked them all up And put them in a drawer
Ten days later the other mugs Saw a creature most divine! A pretty china mug laced With lovely golden lines
It’s me the old china mug! He said smiling at their stares I’ve just been mended gently With love and Golden Repair
And so it is with old things Friendships, mugs and toys With love and care, gentle repair They bring constant joy
Sometimes while I sit, engrossed in life My brow lightly furrowed, concentrating On getting the task at hand done Running my five miles in the circle of creation
I hear a rustle, a little whisper Of someone on the periphery of my thoughts I glance up, as if to see the vision Of that someone that always flits across My mind on busy days like these Resting otherwise in my heart; I glance as if that heavenly soul has Bridged our realms that are so far apart.
I look up, afraid to lose the thread Of that feeling, that gentle touch Of someone nestling in my core Someone beloved, someone missed so much. I look beyond into the blurry depths Of my vision, desperately holding on To that fleeting caress upon my cheek Gifted, bestowed by a precious one.
The atoms of day, ricochet and I blink Once, twice. I am back in the circle of life I grope twice, three times for that lucid moment When i was in the same space, alongside Someone who most days quietly rests In the warmest nooks of my being A cherished one who on special days like this Takes my hand, eyes twinkling as she beams!
I glance up, my soul surging with joy For that precious moment, filling the void. Sometimes while I sit, engrossed in life I am touched by a beloved for a sweet moment in time.
Mahvash Mohtadullah 