I walk down the street, my face set so The kind that threatens “Back off!” you know .. Some also call it the Resting Bitch Face I call it my Psychosocial Can of Mace
I will deny that I’m a lonesome brooder Heck! I love life’s energy and sizzle It’s just that as I’ve grown older … and crosser My Crap Tolerance has all but fizzled
The thing is I now don’t take kindly to Neanderthal stares when I am about Eyeballs a-popping, dignity devolving Seeing Homosapien man driving himself out!
I remember I used to look away before The caveman crassness too much for me Now I reward them, with stupendous contortions Maybe add an unlovely squint or three
Here’s the ruse, these men are obtuse They’ll only ever shake their tails To the pretty demure, girl next door A vibe that so many ladies emanate
So when they see, the prettiness flee Leaving a facial mass of disturbing stuff The caveman stands up, evolution catches up The genteel one can’t look away fast enough!
So the next time, that you feel inclined To give an avid ogler a fit resprise Toggle the peeps, bare all your teeth In a grimace fit for Franken-bride
And that ladies, is why you’ll find me Walking serenely down the street Until I’m in a parade, for the Staring Brigade Then I unleash the power of the squint and the teeth.
La de da de da, sang the Arum As she rustled her giant leaves It was her seventh birthday today And she was oh so very pleased!
She was feeling especially grand today As she nestled her very first bud She was going to flower any day A thing of beauty rising from the mud.
That night when the moon was high in the sky In the lush rainforest of Sumatra The Titan Arum sat in prideful state As her bud blossomed into flower
She giggled and shook her big big leaves Sending out waves of her special pong Her smell reminds some of smelly cheese Others of socks that have been worn too long!
The rotting smell is a sweet bouquet For dung beetles and flesh flies They settle onto the new bloom Inhaling her smells with happy sighs
The magnificent flower stays facing the sun A splash of burgundy red colour Its frilly edges rippling in the wind - An upturned bell on the forest floor.
Three days and nights the Arum flower blooms And then collapses onto the ground Its short life was one big adventure Of funky smells and insect sounds!
Seven years on, there will be a new bud For forty years this cycle will repeat But in between the hulking plant returns To its quiet life on its hillside steep.
In the rain forests of Nicaragua There’s the cutest little animal Always smiling, forever lounging He keeps his movements to a minimal
Even though he is quite blind And lives his life in slow motion He can remember all the place he goes He’s also the pull-up world champion!
He’s three times as strong as you and me And yet he eats only a leaf a month Smiling and blinking, hugging and napping He does only super slow things for fun
One day Slow Mo fell off his tree Remember, his movements are very slow He dropped down a hundred feet Crashing into the plants below
But lo and behold! He was whole Unhurt he crawled out of the brush It took him four days and twenty one hours To ever so slowly climb back up
He decided he didn’t like such adventures Because Slow Mo also had vertigo And as he was climbing he had an odd feeling That his ears had changed places with his toes!
But he made it back home, a smile on his face As he settled himself at the top of his tree He took three hours to pick a flower And once more began his slow motion feast
A lovely musical sound is heard From the rainforests of Queensland Also the whirr of an electric saw And the toots and da-dums of a marching band
They’re not the sounds of a jungle party Nor a trumpeter tuning his instrument It’s just the superb lyre bird Showing off his many vocal talents
He can be found in the theatres he builds In the shrubs of his forest abode In which he dances like a prima donna For all the girls in his neighbourhood
He fans out his beautiful tail The girls all watch with interested eyes He’ll then take two steps forward One step back, three to the side
He then goes up to the nearest bird And asks her if she likes his dance If she says “Oh yes I do good sir!” Well, then its the start of a little romance
The superb lyrebird sets out to impress Not one girl but a whole lot of them He’ll sing for up to four hours a day Until every last one is in love with him
Every year he puts up ever more Beautiful acts of song and dance Better and better are his displays As he entertains his special audience
If you ever chance to come across An especially friendly lyre bird Say something to him a few times And he may just say your magic word
Kaboom! Boom! Biff! Biff! Thud! That’s the sound you hear from this stomatopod As she attacks her enemies big and small Breaking them up shells, claws and all
She’s a warrior of an ancient line Fierce and strong is this lass She can punch the living daylights out Of anyone who shows her sass
She has independently roaming eyes Nothing escapes her frightening glare Your friend and you can run and hide Ms. Mantis will follow you each with her stare
Miss Mantis Ali has many friends They even have a secret code Their bodies sparkle in the sun As they dance in their shallow pool homes
She has a cousin whom she loves Who lives in the warm Pacific waters They meet up once in a while And get up to all sorts of fun and laughter
If you ever come very near her home In the warm waters of the Indian ocean She’ll puff out her chest and growl at you And get her boxer mode full on
And there we leave Miss Mantis Ali Of the Mantis Shrimp family Boxing champion of all the oceans Fearless fighter of all the seas.
It is feeling like the world has overcome You body and soul and then some It’s like drowning in a bottomless sea Gasping, gasping, trying to breathe Sputtering, choking reaching for air Crashing, thrashing limbs everywhere It’s feeling the whole world closing in Vision blurring, darkness descending. It’s being sure that many endings are near Of wanting, of living and even of fear It’s feeling the numbness spread like a pall Binding you, blinding you even as you fall Into the swirling, whirling abyss Of dead emotions, of nothingness
It’s finally seeing the smallest of gleams Picking the darkness at its hoary seams Little by little the flicker grows bright Ever so slowly it pierces the night Your leaden heart too warms in the heat Resuming its vital, pulsating beat You rise to the surface on a rip tide You’re thawing and warming on the inside You break the surface of your despair As your throttled lungs fill up with air Gasping, gasping you take in a breath Sputtering and choking you hold on to the thread Of the world coming back within reach Hope on strong wings, has ended the siege
She gathers you up in her healing arms Anointing you with her soothing balms Freeing you, steeling you so that you may walk Another day with strength and love in your heart.
A tribute to all the young women who are constantly attempting to be bigger than the patriarchal shadows cast upon them. (This is in specific response to the most recent mauling by hundreds of men, of a girl who was making a video on Independence Day at Minar-e-Pakistan – a monument ironically, symbolising freedom and self determination).
There was once an average girl Average I use to disclaim That she was your happy gal next door Not your wild and sassy dame
Not that there’s much wrong with that It’s for those who tend to decry The women greater than their veil Behind which they ought to hide
Hide away from prying eyes Hide away from sin Hide their bodies, hands and feet Hide their existence
The Sin that marches all about Ready to be employed In the lawless caveman hands Of any man or boy
She decided she was bigger than The shadows that cloaked her being She was going to live her life She would do so many things
She already had a fan base She was a minor TikTok star She would post quirky things Of her adventures near and far
And so it was on Freedom Day Full of patriotic zeal That she went to the Minar* To capture the national feel
And there is when it happened The Sin awaiting its Amen Was pulled to its fruition By hundreds of stir-crazed men
Mauled and savaged was that girl Because she had essayed To be more than the sum of her Shadows and opaque veils
And that’s the ominous legacy Our nation tends to bestow On any woman who attempts To spread her wings, to grow.
There was once an average girl She’s as average as she seems In the Rank and file of nameless girls Who’s dreams have been “washed clean”
* Minar: Means “Tower” in Urdu. Here it refers to Minar-e-Pakistan
A satirical take on some of the fairy tales we’ve grown up with. Can you guess each of the four Scary Tales? 🤓
You know I kind of hate you With your magic and your spells Always trying to help folks Always being so swell My father’s on his own trip Marrying yet again I wanted all his attention Now of my existence you’re the bane So I’m going to show you up as The evil step mom in the wings Going to booze and then I’ll snooze And await my Prince Charming
I’ll do you better with my step fam A mother and her progeny! I curse the day I met them The entire simpering family! I’m irked by their sweet faces These step sisters of mine Always minding their Ps and Qs, Dimpling their saccharine smiles. I’ll raise a big fake scandal Of their meanness and their pride Pater will have no choice But to have them thrown outside.
I’m a bit of a peculiar one I loved my solitude Until father brought in New Mom My lonesomeness to loot Always laughing, always nice So gleeful and alive I’d been cringing night and day At her effusive vibe So I plotted insidiously and By and by got myself out I now have my own tower For my tresses and my gout.
You’ve all taken so long to weave Yourselves into this rhyme We got rid of our step mom One bread crumb at a time. She insisted on healthy food And also bushels of love Ugh! No! We wanted none of that So we arranged for witchy stuff Old Dame Crone opened her home To us to live with her Ice cream and pizza off the doors In bed, Twix and Ferrero Rocher!
The old wives tales of mean step moms Are a riot and a half But we are not complaining; No! We’re having the last laugh Princesses and Cinder-gals We’ve all got our own quirks And truth be told, we oft unfold Into audacious jerks These scary tales are the flip side Of the happy ever after Sometimes the cackle that you hear Is our malificent laughter.
Our blue green world has gone to POT Not the stuporous, cheering kind The elating, fascinating kind The happily beclouding kind The angst all a-blurring sort No, all that it certainly is not
But our world has gone to POT Not the souffle baking sort Not the healthy steaming kind Not the chicken tikka fry Nor the chuck roast braising sort No, none of that comforting lot
But our world has gone to POT Not the bowel movement kind The cleansing of the intestines The calming morning ritual kind The 1 kg load lessening sort No, of the closet family it’s not
But our world has gone to POT Moral compass broken down Compassion harder to be found Dignity, serenity, gratefulness Are just so many hollow sounds In the flowing waters of life From cresting fullness back to the ground
Yes, our world has gone to POT Not the stuporous, cheering kind Not the soufflé baking sort Not the morning ritual kind. But the saddening, maddening sort The depressing, disappointing sort The “I’m done with it. Over and out” That’s how our world is going to pot.
Mahvash Mohtadullah 