There have been extra days of rain Delaying the heat of the approaching summer In spontaneous, joyful Shimmering showers It has streamed down or drizzled for hours There has been a surge of butterflies Yellow, brown, blue and white Flitting all over the place Happy for a few more days Of life and vitality I see them floating among the flowers Cavorting in spring-lavished bowers Treading warm currents of air Over pavements where the cracks Are speckled with dancing weeds Over an emerald oasis of grass Loop-de-looping when they pass Another bloom That’s sprung up between the blades Glorious, serendipitous Delirious on springtime bliss They somersault back To bestow a nectary kiss On soft, dewy petal lips Beating gossamer wings Evanescent, paper-thin Revelling in bountiful life The inevasible heat A distant ordeal For now in their bejewelled flights The spring-born butterflies In pure rapture will remain Celebrating the extra days of rain.
I was lost I took the path Less trodden, I tossed Away the ease Of normalcy I walked away Off the street that carried feet Teeming, streaming busily Easily, its metalled gray Smooth and safe, predictable
I’d felt strong, invincible I walked away Aimlessly, Trail-lessly, No signs, no familiarity I walked I walked Directionless, solitary On and on I walked and walked Until doubts and insecurities Snaked hoary tendrils around me But I walked on until my feet Were bruised and cut Until they bled Until I wept
================================ Until I had forged a road ahead ==================================
It now lies cleaved and gravelly With little grooves Once stained with blood And squelching mud Filled up With wild flowers now Sun dappled through swaying boughs The path ahead of me Now gleams with its own lambency
I was lost I left the path oft-trodden, I crossed Into uncharted territory Where the wilderness roamed free Lit up by the gleam of stars And the warmth of cherished dreams There I carved my own way Hope-hewn, Grit-laden, Endlessly It now stretches out in front of me.
There’s a shop down the street Where you can buy consciences Gentle pin pricks around your heart For when you want to sense something For when you want to feel A tiny paper cut, a delicate weal Most times you buy a numbness though Cloaked in velvety greys and yellows They’re tailor-made to fit around Your never-racing, constant heart And your ever-racing, chasing mind The greater you can muster Put down on the counter The finer the swaddle To enshroud your qualms To feel the vaguest of twinges Of right and wrong When to see and when to be Sightless, without sound Unconscious, uncurious, asleep In the thick, creamy fabric Numbingly, comfortingly bound Gut-driven compass buried deep Six feet below the ice and the snow The tsunamis, the floods and the hurricanes The droughts, the disease, the misery Interred in darkness, entombed underground In the meantime there’s a shop that sells Custom-built, free-of-guilt scruples in town.
When life gets hard as it sometimes does When the weight of the world is pulling you down When you want to hide in the depths of your bed When you don’t want your feet to touch solid ground
When you want to close your eyes and just disappear And hope that in some dimensional shift You can escape the world that surrounds you here That you can find the cosmic ether that fits
When you have to part your hesitant lids And the effort is excruciating, difficult When despite your aching, your most ardent yen There’s no secret exit, no miracle
When you bring your hand up to your sleep-shrouded face When you glance accusingly at the lines When you wonder if ever they would become Prophets, purveyors of better times
When you finally rise and breathe deeply in When you feel the pulse of your blood again When the vestigial coolness of your room Brushes up familiarly against your warm skin
Then know that although the odds are stacked Up sky high, crushing, overwhelming That the universe still holds you close to her breast That there are still songs that she will sing
So when life gets hard as it sometimes does When your heavy heart has robbed you of your smile Slow down, pull back from the rush of life Dearest one, take the road less travelled for a while.
There’s a face in the shadows Downcast, serene A quiet glow drapes The rest of her As she sits cross-legged On the floor She holds the cosmos in her prayerful hands I want to see the face so full of quiet grace I want to understand Where the woman gets Her stillness from I tilt my head to see More clearly And then two shimmering orbs Rise from under their lidded veils I hold my breath I’m no longer Watching from the outside in I float I glide out of the place I’m light as a feather I rise up there’s no tether To time and space To anything I have ever known I float on And I drop The sharp edged angst that I had held In my chest and in my head And it falls Away from me I stretch out my arms I rise and rise Into the infinity Of those glimmering eyes Through twin portals To my paradise.
There’s a girl in the sunset Her hair is ablaze Her dupatta streams In the arid breeze I can’t see her face I catch my breath She stands there still, so still I see the horizon seethe and rage Scorch her in its red-hot rampage I close my eyes I’m afraid to look Afraid to see the heavens burn Afraid to see the ashes blown Of the girl that is standing there alone
But then
My stinging eyelids fly open, I see She’s still there She looks back at me The blaze of the sun Now a shimmering red Halo around her head Like a crown. She won’t go down When her world careens When her world burns all around Grey smoke rising from the sea Of charred, asphyxiated dreams She stands there serene She gathers the light around her being She smiles, she gleams She is the fire queen.
My thoughts sometimes Become like rebellious kids They dart about my head Swarm into my hippocampus Making me sweat I race after them Calling to them But they don’t heed me They’re chimerical beings Elves and pixies and aliens Coins and marbles and peeling paint A stubbed toe, a tired saint A fierce cupid on a fountain Rose bushes that run riot And then I just lose sight Of them at all I hear the silence Numbing, thrumming, sometimes strumming Through my brain
Then I see them again They’re out on the streets They’ve run free, leaving me behind They’ve escaped the prison of my mind I watch them from afar Tumbling around Laughing, skipping, rumbling around Moaning, groaning, fumbling around Far away from me I’m featherlight now I float above them Like I’m dead The leaden weight of life Has dropped I watch it tumble with my thoughts Rumble, tumble, sometimes stumble In its frantic vitality
I’m timeless, sadless, gladless now E m p t y I float away In a silent conspiracy Of air and nothingness.
Dappled sunlight Upon my skin Warm, streaming motes Kiss my neck My arms, my face Whispering sweet nothings Caressing, comforting My shoulders drop The weight of the world That sits on them Like twin rocks I’m no longer Atlas Holding up the sky Shivering In its storminess Legs quivering Under its burden of sighs And tears and loss For now It has all melted away The coldness, the heaviness, the grey For now There is only a quiet joy A rainbow sprinkling Of dappled sunlight Upon my skin Thawing me, warming me From within.
This is a fond tribute to all the microscosms of colonial design and demeanour/ architecture and attitude that continue to faithfully roost in various cities across what was once the coveted Jewel in the Crown.
I’m having a day that’s making me feel More sterile than a beetle on its back I’m walking on the thin side Of breaking down, losing sight Of my psychedelic, privileged life I need some of the forgetting tonic That Pir Buksh so expertly whips up That makes me happy, schizophrenic With every sip and every glug I drink the potion, and I duly grow My Abs synth-esizing my lost bravado
Suddenly they’re all like flies On the periphery of my eyes They cease to make me wince and curse They cease to be a part of my universe I sit back, bark an order In Bloodhound, German shepherd tones Throw a carcass, throw some bones Throw a tantrum for good measure The club becomes a pyramid I’m at the top, the very apex Those hoisiting it upon their shoulders The club like a majestic boulder Matter not, they sit there Like a pile of boring underwear They’ve seen it all but you don’t care They keep it all precisely together The erstwhile jewels in their imperial leather
“One more!” I shout in thundering tones “Absinth me up quick bartender!” Before I lose the precious threads Of the delicate lace of elegance Pir Bukhsh gives me some more manna From the counter in the shadows And I swallow and I glide In the throes of happy amnesia The absinthe in the Ab-sind club Makes me feel so damn superi-a Heavens be praised I’ve had a day Like I’m lord of a castle in the UK Indeed, the last few hours have made me feel Like a hero in a Bollywood reel.
My book SHIMMERING SCRAPS OF POETRY AND MADNESS is now available at the following locations:
SRI LANKA: - THE BAREFOOT BOOKSTORE - THE JAM FRUIT TREE BOOKSTORE - PENDI - SARSASAVI BOOKSTORES - EXPOGRAPHICS
PAKISTAN: - LIBERTY BOOKS - PARAMOUNT BOOKS - READINGS
ABOUT THE BOOK:
The book is a collection of poems and essays, and as the name suggests, the contents of the 243 pages range from the sublime to the ridiculous; from soaring on the wings of ecstacy to struggling with overwhelming despair; from the capricious joys of matrimony to the dubious delights of singledom; from the profound ecstasy in a mug of steaming latte to the ardent disappointment in a less than perfectly brewed cup of tea; from the comedic to the somber and from the customary to the controversial, this collection of poems and features encompasses them all, and like a sore-throated bulbul (who also has some clear-voice days) I have sung them all for you.
Mahvash Mohtadullah 