How long has it gone on for? I have lost count of the days and the months And the number of times Facts and fiction have been combined Made to stand hand in hand By the gentiles that stain these lands Caricaturizing, miming scenes Of zealotry and genocide
I have lost count Of the number of hospitals bombed Ruins atop tunnels where the Khamas abound And the aid workers killed Unidentified dangrerous women and men And the journalists sniped With their arsenal of 1984 daggers and knives And the doctors shot With nitroglycerin bombs hidden in their surgical gowns And the men raped in prisons With propagandist lore stuffed up their intestines And the women maimed Their bellies heavy with terrorist babes And the children killed Starved and stilled Their sinful blood spilled On the promised land
How long before this evil doth cease How long before the chosen ones can finally live in peace?
She stands there in her thrift store threads Clean and scrubbed one can tell Despite her modest, well-used clothes And her holey, well-worn shoes She used to know happier times (Hope still huddles in her eyes) Her three children, wide-eyed surround Her
They all gape at the golden car A Lamborghini custom made For a Sheikh (Imported to the United States,for a holiday) Oil fields gush in his backyard Petrodollars in his bank Harvest hedged on the newest tank of War
“Her. War”. They sit together in this poem Teased, cajoled to conjoin To form a hallowed, blessed tie They claim the union to be right
Celestis, Infinitus, Divine.
But is it “her War”? She can’t tell If she can’t tell, neither will I.
Autumn’s here, the leaves they fall As they do when summer drifts away Slowly leaf by leaf, butterflies and bees All whisk away to other places where nippy winds Frost-nibbled grass and bare trees Have had their day. They change places For a spell, the cities wear new faces Borrowed for a while They smile, they sleep, they laugh, they dream Hand in hand with the people passing by
Autumn’s here, the leaves should fall As they do when summer slips away But the seasons can’t find their way Into this city, its leaves, butterflies and bees Have ceased to be. Permanently. Their carcasses one With those of their humans that once Lived in this place. They can’t change places Even for a while They cannot sit and weep and weep and weep Where mothers are slain and children are left to die.
For my beloved sister who is swept in the constant tides of farewells and then meeting-again-for-too-short-a-while. And for all the other parents whose fledglings have taken wing, may you continue to find your joy and serenity.
They are the quickening parts of you That you bestow upon the world Beings that become other people Independent. Adult Then there’s the anxiety and tumult Of letting them go From the safe radius of the home From the proximity of your everyday touch From the protective circle of your sinewy arms Each muscle a testament To years of being superhuman A perpetual hero, a champion And now you also have Your own growing pains to bear Of them not being there As they make their start In places you can’t be Coming back to rest To lay down tired heads On other pillows, other beds Their childhood rooms Stirring softly with their scents But my dearest, don’t despair These aches pass, they morph They bloom into other things A kinship deep as all the seas A bond of care that is more even-keeled Conversations, confidences, the sharing of dreams
They are out there now Let them live and love With all their might You’ve done your part They know the tree The orchard, the seeds That they’ve sprung from Now let them go Let your fluttering, bursting heart Give them wings to fly Fly, fly, up, up high Into the vastness of the sky Let them whoop with joy Let them go Where the soul moves them Out into the brilliant world To take a little bit of it Make it their own Let them imprint it With their hearts and their minds Let them be quirky, let them be kind Let them be funny, let them be full Of passion, of hope, of tenderness Let them roar and cheer and also tear up At life’s beauty, excitement, its bruises and cuts Let them show all their own shades of loveliness Let them add to the shimmering throng Of all that’s vital, new and strong
And you, dear beloved With your empty nest Now filled with books Or paints or pets You who have begotten them Stand fast and true and wise Behind them. Cheer them on As they sing their own songs In the great choir of life.
She sits there selling bangles Set up in a wicker basket Some laid down on the grass Every now and then she gently Sweeps off the dust that spreads thinly From teeming feet that hurry past Barely slowing near the woman Sitting on her haunches hoping For someone to slow down, to pause Her concave belly almost touching The basket that is tugging The life blood from her womb Every time that she moves Spilling it in little driblets Onto its precious load
The maternal bond of glass and blood Unremitting, never enough As she sits car-caressing Sometimes fretting, sometimes fussing Rearranging, caring, loving Always loving, always loving A tender smile hov-hovering Around her tired mouth She is umbilical-corded To her treasures Resting in their bed of wicker Willing them to cleave their way Into the hearts of passersby Willing them to shine so bright That it brings tears to her eyes The boundless world of plenty In those bangles by her side
Behind her lie two little heads Heat-numbed and stupefied Little thumbs in little mouths Doing their best to pacify The endless hunger in their bellies Matured and rarefied Over lifetimes spent behind Their mother as she hums Little songs of gentle rain On golden fields of wheat and rye Watching their little sisters Take all their mother’s time Resting in their basket They tinkle and they wink They watch their little sisters Gleaming, laughing in delight Suckling on the joyfulness That streams from their mother’s eyes.
NB: Image is from the World Wide Web. Artist was not mentioned.
But you have to wed There is no other way Unless of course I’m dead He’s family, my sister’s son Your cousin You’ve known each other Since forever Yes, he used to be my brother! LIKE a brother when you were little He’s not your brother Don’t say these bizarre things ‘Bhai hai! Khair hai, chai bana lo’ That wasn’t said so long ago By you mother, ammi, ammini, enemy
That was then and this is now I have a child Sing, drums play for you A son is born, sing! My child, so beautiful Come down sing drums play for you Sing drums play, come Down-sing-drums Play for you, come Down-Syn-Drums Play for you, come Down-syn-drome Pain for you, come, come down….
This is now and how it shall remain My child, golden Beautiful, so beautiful So angry, so tearful And also so dry-eyed, so agonized So angry all the time He screams again I close my ears sometimes I disappear now and then I look away from his little head Swollen with tears, angry, unshed
But I had to wed There was no other way He was family, her sister’s son Now my son my son, my beautiful, broken son There was no other way I had to become the bride Unless of course I had died.
It was just another day I was going to my cafe I got onto the escalator Inching me up on my north-easterly way
I turned around to the sound Of a straining, hassled parent As he looked at his little one His mildly stern gaze quite apparent
The boy looked away; he was not in the mood To be held back from his play The stairs running up all on their own! What fun to skip around on them all day!
I sensed his bright happy energy Even as his little hand was grasped In restraint; in gentle admonishment Grown-up impatience was writ quite large!
The agitatated parent caught my eye As I took in the scene from five stairs above I smiled; he smiled; something freed up And he looked back down at his little son
He picked him up and kissed his cheek Then up on his shoulders the little boy went The child gave a glorious whoop of joy As on the magical stairway he made his ascent.
I looked up, the special journey was ending I bade it farewell with a skip and a hop The child still grinning chortled with laughter It was just another sweet day out and about.
Mahvash Mohtadullah 