I feel the pull I feel the glimmer It surrounds me, it’s all around me I freeze as it coaxes me Out of the grip of my sanity I stop struggling And let it pull me in I drown Down, down In the tsunami gushing Inside my mind But only for a breath
I resurface then In my other world My secret one Where I have no anxiety Where I don’t want to run And hide I’m beside A swing in the garden And a rocking chair. I smile. They both hold the comfort And the softness of old friends They rest there quietly
I sit in the swing I push with my feet And peek through the leaves At the golden-red sky I can’t see them But I can hear the birds I think it is dusk A velvety glow wraps my world Golden paisleys and whorls Dance around my feet As I sway gently in my seat Dappled sunlight cloaks My shoulders like angels’ wings As I weave to and fro on the swing
I breathe out, my muscles untense I’m far away from cause and consequence No memories, no sorrows No yesterdays, no tomorrows It is Now and Now is everything I lean back In the swing She holds me softly In her cushioning I close my eyes I hear something Someone is calling me Voices from far away But my lids are so heavy I can’t keep awake In the tranquil buzz Of the honey bees And the gentle murmur Of the almond trees Like wraiths the voices fade away
I’m finally home, unbound, pain-free I lay my head back and sleep.
She’s not here anymore. She’s gone Adrift in the tangle of her dreams.
I look at the leaves Serrated edges, little flowers And I wonder About its identity The shrub growing under the amalthas* tree You would know You always knew As we walked in the street Outside the house You could name every flower And every tree Every creeper Even the sickness That gripped some of the leaves
You looked at these Concerned, everything else forgotten The fact that your own body Was racked with disease That ever-present pall softened By the enormity of your being Your own pain erased And at that time, in that moment I too forgot The wheelchair that you were in That you were ill; that we were grief stricken I dived right in, feeling, seeing You weaving magic around everyday things Flowers and trees grew chimerical wings
The swaying kachnar* The beskirted Ashokas* Bobbing profusions Of jasmine and phlox Fragrant bunches Of nargis* and freesias You pointed them out with happy ease And worried when any of these Were less than their perfect selves And I too smiled and looked In wonder At how joyfully you revelled in it all Holding infinity in your lit up face Offering up so much love and grace
And for those moments I too forgot The pain and the grief It was you and me Sadness free While you took me on ethereal trips Where nature in all her fullness Unfurled - beautiful, calming, brave We were carried away on a gentle wave The pitted leaves Still vital and green Were the only things we needed to save
For all the women and the men supporting them; for all those who get up every morning and despite all odds make it through the day surviving, shining, rising. For the friends and families of Sara, Mahsa, Noor, Qurat Ul Ain and of the countless nameless others like them: your grit is everything.
When it’s been tormenting Day after day. With no respite And I just don’t have it in me to fight To battle on When I’m war-weary When there is no end in sight And all I want to do Is sit in a dark room And let its coolness shroud me Until I can feel the hair Stand on my skin. There Is suddenly more to the day Than the heaviness in my heart And the endlessness of the grey That has been flowing, gripping choking me Keeping me doubled down on my knees There’s more beyond that malevolent mien Images, memories driving me insane
Now -
Now there is also something On the outside of me A little chill A little photo on the window sill Both pull at me in different ways One makes icicles To sear through The magma that has congealed Inside of me The other makes my blood flow warm Streaming, coursing through my veins Reminding me that I’m not alone My spirit and my fortitude Still cloak my shoulders Strong and true I sit up straight As they reverberate Through every atom of my being And they chant An age old song Of others like me Who’ve fought on Their hearts fused forever With the loved ones they’ve lost And I know That I’m not wielding my sword alone
I go to the kitchen and switch on the light A hazy, 5 watt bulb warms to life I then put the kettle on And while it sings its little song I fix my square blue-flowered tray Strainer, spoon and a little bowl And one of my mugs adds to the whole With a pinch of the most fragrant earl grey It sits in its saucer and awaits The steamy pour from the spout Of the kettle as the water gushes out
Onto the teabag it flows in a rush Steaming vapour billowing up The mug is filled almost to the brim Just enough space for milk, not skimmed (Low fat is the best I can do Playing around with tea is taboo!) Then the iris-strewn tea tray goes To the lounge, loaded with its amenities In all of this, as its centrepiece My mug puts on a steamy show
It blows kisses in fragrant plumes Sending them wafting across the room I kiss it back with my first sip It’s the one that has the scalding nip I close my eyes as it slides down My throat, searing the flesh around But that is the pleasure of tea drinking A self-immolation fit for a king
* ICARUS: One of the most famous tragic figures in Greek mythology, his story highlights the dangers of excessive pride/ fixation. Although he was warned by his father not to fly too high, Icarus became overexcited and flew too close to the sun, causing his wings (made by his father,from feathers and wax) to melt and leading to his untimely death. This is a bit of satire on the old Greeks of mythology.
There was once a young woman She had this special thing One can’t call it love you see The Sun was her heart’s king
She’d look up at the sky all day In spring and then in summer Winter woes came down in throes Not seeing him was a bummer
But she’d then glue her sun-sick eyes Upon the tele-vusion Watching classics and Sci-Fi Of beaches and nuclear fusion
(Fission, I admit, is a grander term But it’s a small explosion Through staid old Fusion doth the sun Make Helium from Hydrogen)
One day on her 60th birthday She’d had it with long distance She put her crafty hands to work She wasn’t losing one more instant
She made herself some silver wings With aluminium and nylon string And then up to the roof she went To flap, flap up to her king
It was probably mind over matter that Got her three feet above the roof The Sun finally said “Icarus in your 35th Incarnation, you’re still a goof”.
Mahvash Mohtadullah 