Each time I put them away In some silent corner of my being Locked away So they don’t rear Their grief-gorged heads When it’s not their time Nor their day
And then you begin A conversation Those things I’ve been meaning to say Rattle the locks that hold them at bay I let them out They race for my heart My eyes smart
They scratch their way To my mouth I let them out Hesitating with every one That escapes Wrapping itself around your shoulders In a hug, a tortured embrace
Waiting for you To look at them, feel their grain Their pain, hear their refrain They float around waiting for you You turn away Their ragged breaths Steam up the pane
They quiver In a final thrum of hope Fallen, on the ground they grope For a sliver of faith But you turn away Unhearing, unseeing They disintegrate Into nothingness around your feet.
Eyes rheumy, ringed with grey Stare at me, stare me down But their old fire is gone Almost gone … age-worn I still shrink, but imperceptibly Outwardly there is no sign Of being pushed off the line Off my center, intimidated Bullied, silently hated For that time. Those eyes Still try to be Windows to his reflection of me Disappointing, different, so unlike The version I should have been
I look back at him Even as I feel my own agitation Silently Pull at my edges, wringing at them Helplessly, I don’t want the drama I’m too old for that now He’s older but he doesn’t see The futility, the lovelessness, This rejection of me I look away, back at my book Quiet, stoic as calm as can be Inside another little piece Of closeness, affection, familiarity Breaks off into the grey-ringed void Of distances spanning an eternity.
The blue has vanished from your skies The golden gleam from your eyes Snatched away, so many times So many times, it found its way Back into your lion hearts Through shining windows of your souls Now gaping holes pockmark your homes That still stand In the ruins of your beautiful land Once again it’s raining shells Mixing in With the silver salt of your tears again Washing, washing sins on sins They keep hounding, pounding down You keep cleansing, renewing again With tender streams that gush forth Washing, washing, washing sins The world has watched for so long As you have sung your ardent songs Of peace and freedom, just those Worn your sorrow, brave and strong While the world has sat secure In the boundaries etched and drawn Liberty-guarded, Flag-adorned While you lie shrouded in the dust Of rockets plunged into your hearths Hearts bleeding, torn apart The world is watching yet again Your pain, your pain, your searing pain Has seeped into our prickling skin From all the rivers to every sea We see you now Palestine Each woman and each man Standing tall unto the end We keen with you Palestine For every child that has died Blown to bits or buried alive We scream with you Palestine Our voices ring across the earth For every tear that you have shed For every drop that you have bled A million hearts now hold your grief A million more march on and on In every city, every town We roar with you Palestine From the river to the sea You will prevail, you will be free.
She’s caught in the rush of hurrying feet Snippets of conversations Of laughter, exclamations She’s caught in a tidal wave Of teeming, streaming life She’s caught in the swell Of people of voices, of sights and smells Riding the vital wave Pushing ahead Her silk scarf catches the breeze Of swelling, surging humanity She feels it pull Floating just a little in front of her She quickens her step Her feet instinctively keeping up With the urgency of life She feels something In her gut, the pit of her stomach A ripple, almost a laugh! She inhales deeply, she can’t place This sudden lightness of being It feels out of place This morning, mourning She had felt like lead Now like vapor she rises up Colourless, clean In that moment she’s someone else Propelling her body like a comet Lighter, brighter almost serene
She arrives at her gate 8A The same number, the place Where this very morning She had buried them She had forgotten For a few moments Who she was She was desolation and grief itself Wearing the bruises of loss Mourning only this morning It all came back dawning As she came to herself As her blood remembered And curdled inside A freezing, heaving cauldron of chills She sank into the depths of her seat 9B There was a sequence Monumental, compelling To her agony She had to remember She couldn’t forget Her world had ended When she had buried her dead.
(This piece is about body image issues that so many women face especially as they get older. It takes a lot of character and guts to not let the negativity get to you. Again, this objectification is a product of our chauvinistic environments).
You’ve put on weight, wait! Does this mean that you’re eating too many sweets Or could it be that you’re finally getting old Old, rolled, holed into the box That’s been built for you, no u-turns Nothing you can fox your fading way out of You’re done. Stay in the shadows, woman Know your place Face the truth of tradition Perdition Hard-wired into your being, your biology Know your place Or we’ll remind you Laughingly, ribbing along the line Where we can jest or malign
I’m caught off guard, but I’ve also been Wrought, fraught, taught To feel bad for feeling bad To smile wide Wide enough to swallow his sin and my own hurt My eyes scrunch up, almost close Those windows to my soul Beclouded, beclogged, becloaked Lest the world see the state of my heart He feels bad for an instant, he reneges Laughingly, now ribbing across the line I feel worse that he feels bad My smile widens until I can feel it cut into my skin His sin and my guilt doubled Lancing at my face, etching unnatural lines Into furrows that make me look Comic, demonic, they take their pick On the day they feel a rage Righteous, man-ifold and brave That they then spill into the ruts Of my shame-shambled face.
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.
Palms together Cradling the chakra of your heart You give of your essence to the world You pray for healthfulness For the fruition of dreams and things The prayer travels from your lips Like a flock of migrating starlings It moves with purpose and with aim Of ardent supplications
It then joins hands with other wraiths With other ghosts in the gold-green ether Of immaculate petitions and pleas That linger in grace fulfilled, replete And also those that hopeful remain Floating like fireflies, lighting the way For other prayers that have lost their way In the cosmos of blessed invocation
Palms together Facing the chakra of my solar plexus I send my own missive into the universe There are no words to this appeal My gut sends the scriptless message for me I’m not quite sure of what it is I close my eyes and soundlessly Wordlessly, I send out my energy To take on what form it will In the maya of our collective dreams.
It is the bee buzzing round the last summer flower It is the lightest drizzle on a scorching day It is the rainbow after it has stormed for hours That has ravaged everything in its wake It is the bright little smile on the face of a child Selling elastics and incenses on the street When you roll down your window at a traffic light When you leave her with a kind word or three It is the weed growing through age-worn furrows In a cement sidewalk, swaying in the breeze It is the faithful, steady unbroken flame That warms the heart of a dying candle It is the single green leaf on a tree that’s ailing It is the silent prayer That leaves your lips Even when all about you is despair It is the next step ahead on a broken path Eyes lighting up a horizon that has fallen dark Hope is sometimes just the littlest spark
It is feeling like you just can’t go on anymore It is also your blood gushing stronger than ever before It is the frame that you pull out of a drawer Into which you put photos of those that are gone It is brushing your hair Pulling it into a bun It is clipping your nails When all’s said and done It is reading this verse Sitting alone in the quietness It is laying yourself down in your bed of sighs It is your throat constricting, you breaking inside It is also awaking to thunderous skies Their wetness brimming in your aching eyes Mangled hearts that still throb in the ebb and the flow It is you that’s still here Though you’ve bled and you’ve bruised Hope pearlesceht strings through all of those.
I couldn’t. Everywhere I looked, it was there, looming like a mountain, shivering with the bones and moans of people gone. Rattling its presence constantly. I felt it reach desperate fingers through my veins, slowing my blood to a cold, desolate crawl. Then, roaring through my ears in floods that threatened to rip through the corners of my eyes. My parched eyeballs burned until I couldn’t see.
See me …. Feel me
I couldn’t let myself feel its broken form. Jagged and sharp, it would cut through my flesh everytime I looked at it. No matter how fast I fled, it caught up and gripped me around my chest. So tight, I couldnt breathe. I gasped for air, taking in big choking gulps. And then I ran again. I ran and ran until I couldn’t feel.
Feel me … Hold me
I couldn’t let it engulf my senses, to stir up memories that howled in my head. Its own throbbing soul pitched wretchedly inside its quivering tortured layers. Layers upon layers of purple-grey. Like bruises that just don’t heal. It kept hitting itself bruise upon bruise against the walls of my ribcage until every seam was tattooed with wounding inks. Until it lay prone, ragged and torn. I couldn’t look at it, I couldnt hold it.
Look at me … See me … Feel me … Hold me
Hold me … Feel me … See me … Look at me
I looked at it then, and saw a face there, distorted with pain. So much pain. It was mine. I saw it then, fold up its battered layers and quietly crawl into my heart I felt it then, as it tenderly claimed my body, seeping into every atom of my being I held it at last as it became whole, unbroken, divine. My grief finally belonged to me.
O blue blue sky How often have you seen Grown men cry And children console Kneeling, hand on a ravaged knee Balled inside grieving bones Sunk deep within fractured tombs Their bare stares full of wonder Rare, untouched by such things As sense or consequence Or contrivance or pretense Guileless they just gaze and gaze Eyes wide and bright and beautiful No little cups brimmeth over No tears spill They just watch, they take their fill There is no shock, there is no awe Just the truest bluest won-der One that you may have felt once O blue blue sky When for the very first time You saw all of creation, heaven And earth perfect, unsullied, pure From eyes that were of the bluest azure.
Live in the moment, write a verse Sing a song for better or worse For those that are still around Still aground, that still abound Purrs New Zen in dulcet tones Cease to scruple, seize this time This time, say it out To the ones whose breath still vaults On quickening wings still topside Of the cosmic vault up high
But En-meshed and-mashed in So many things still intertwine Seethe and sizzle, yours and mine In gleaming lips and blistered minds O’er crowds of marigolds and mines In perfect storms come rain or shine In eggshell treads, blessings and all Around the holes within our whole Where things leak out, eke out, grow cold
Love poems can’t fit in, flit in To spaces filled with oxygen Rushing in and then out In bouts, in routs, in-halations Love in poetry is pos-thu-mous Past-the-mists of life’s bliss
Waiting pages like watching sages Stay pristine, unscripted. Cleaned By life-sodden exhalations While lungs and wrists and hearts replete With forgotten dyes wait to spill Nostalgic ink in clots and things In what-if meanderings, when No more breath is left to draw Shrinking wraiths on windowpanes When the dearth of death is overcome They sink their teeth into the sheets That flutter for their odes of love.
Dirk: A bayonet or a knife. A generally cut-throaty thing.
She can either be an axe-wielding shrew Or a damsel in distress The rainbow between The two states of being Is ephemeral, the stuff of delusions Mirages and wild fantasy She can only be one of those things That nebulous, pearlescent intervening realm Rests in the shadows, forgotten Un-remembered, un-loved It sits in between The shrinking violet and she who staggers Hands full of daggers In the precipitous crags Of no-man’s land
The woman, that grande dame Living in the iridiscent silver sweep Of grace, softness and strength Connecting to the very cosmos itself Reposing in the upraised hand Of Mother Nature, she has a plan She’s not distressed and she’s not a man She’s all woman, passionate, warm She can move mountains She can whip up storms She’s also gentle and wise She’s the one who ties Fathers and daughters and sons In shimmering forever bonds She defines The very ethos of humankind
But she is a fairy, she’s unreal She lives in this other realm So close yet out of reach, and in this Our world she can either be A timorous tea rose or a mannish gal And so she has picked a side The flinty hoyden resides In her everyday garb She charges into streets She advances down corridors of corporate intrigue She launches strategic assaults Against her womanhood, her essence Her femininity To keep her wellbeing even-keeled
Sometimes … sometimes When the primordial instinct kicks in She yearns For her softness, her bliss For the profoundness Of being a woman But that fleeting notion Scatters with the burgeoning of the day Burdening her day She severs the thread, casts it aside She becomes, for the thousandth time A spiny, dirking porcupine And that is how she will stay.
Mahvash Mohtadullah 