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.
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.
The rain is falling in sheets upon sheets Jumping into puddles, skipping over feet Performing a symphony as it flows Reaching a crescendo down the street Where whirlwind eddies and the sidewalk meet
The koi in the pond in the building know Something is up, they flicker and jump Out of the water again and again But the ripples on the surface aren’t enough To join in the play of the skies above
They don’t feel the glorious downpour Charge into their silent world thrumming They swim up and down around and around Waiting, waiting expecting something The sensory pleasure of nature dancing
But the koi will float in agitated oblivion To the playful frolic of the monsoon sky As it cavorts with all of earth’s creatures But not with the pond and not with the koi Our faithful tributes to a world gone awry.
She steps into the car Its gleaming surfaces Adorned with gladioli and motia* She’s the bride tonight Garlands also lovingly Entwine in her hair Their fragrance filling The nighttime air Eyes bright Face shining with expectation She glances behind her Just for a moment One last time At that spot where she stood Leaving behind her childhood Marking the end of her maidenhood She smiles Nostalgia now sits there Young, hopeful and light Eyes bright Face shining with expectation Waiting to fill the space That has been so tenderly placed Into her sacred embrace.
I look at the book Have I read it before? It’s a throng of short stories My favourite genre I took it from the shelf In my own home So it has to be one of the For-sure-read tomes Still, as I glanced At the back cover blurb Nothing jumped out Not a line, not a word I looked at its front Multi shades of grey The image glimmered In its dusky array
I opened the book I had to recall A story, a plot twist A mystery resolved In the 267 pages I held in my hand So I started reading Page one, it began: That day Alisha Looked up at the sky The purples and blues Looked terribly awry … The rest of the story Unwrapped itself As I glanced through page two Of the book from my shelf Yes I had read it The memory crept in Of ETs and UFOs And otherworldly things
Of skittering creatures That had huge heads Full of insidious plans To make us all dead Or not! Even in fiction They were polite Giving us choices Being forthright Choices! Forthrightness! Now those are things That are as alien now as Well … human beings! Laughing, I put The Sci-Fi away Our own lives were stranger Than fiction these days
Day breaks and I’m asleep But I can tell it’s dawn again The light touches my retina Through the barrier of my skin It gently feels its way around The darkness behind my shuttered lids Then it sits itself down Waiting for me to let it in To start its morning ritual of Dancing with my rods and cones The caper sometimes morphs into A red hot duel that is fought Electro-impulsively in my brain Where the battleground is wrought Or we break into a marathon run Away, away from every one Flowing with the adrenaline Out of the arteries, into the veins I lead it where it needs to go Some days we waltz, and on some We antelope it out the door Day breaks, I open my eyes to see I’m floating, floating into infinity.
Mahvash Mohtadullah 