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
… Only because more and more it seems like the apple doesn’t fall far from its rotting, pestilential tree. But being the eternal optimist that I am, I’m hoping that a handful of the sons and daughters are at least questioning the political and entrepreneurial legacy they are inheriting from their thieving, deceiving, mobster parents and grandparents. But then I also think, who am I kidding! Still, here’s a verse which is probably farce by its very idealism.
I look at the statement That I have received At the burgeoning wealth In my off-shore company I revel in the fact That I’ve paid zero tax To the exchequer of my home country. “Remember your legacy and your roots” I always say to my progeny They will of course some day Fill my stompingly ample boots
I see the smirk On my son’s face It always gets to me In some weird way “I’m involved in this Complex enterprise Always walking On the edge of a knife! For your sister and you So get on the same page! Boy, this churlishness Is not a good look! Show some gratitude!” I thunder and rage
“You’re stealing from people In thieving hoardes Tradition and Legacy Are just hollow words If this is my ethos, Why does it reek Of insult, deception Of sly treachery I don’t want these roots No, no thank you These gnarled and twisted Tendrils of greed!” He looks at me With storms in his eyes Intimidating me Cutting me down to size
He looks at the statement That he has received Of the plundered millions In his off-shore company He holds it gently Almost reverently Even as he upbraids And tongue-lashes me He now stares me down I have to look away But at least I found the courage To finally have my say
I looked at her over my coffee mug Stealing silent glances Looking her way Then looking away My heart had set up a regular cacophony As I stared at her secretly From above the rim of my cup That I brought to my lips to sip, The adrenaline instead making me chug She sat there, serene and beautiful An ode to perfection itself Between the gulps I watched and drooled Oh lord! I felt like such a fool! I took in a ragged breath I had to calm myself I had to let the feeling pass To wring it, wash it from my heart I had to fight, wrest my hungry eyes Off that whetter of fantasies, that queen of delight That mesmerizing, will-defying Passion Fruit Tart
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 wafting, floating into infinity
A tad controversial? Maybe. But am I still saying it out loud, in rhyme and meter no less? But of course. Some folks mull over things in the privacy of their heads, others whisper them in low tones while my iPad … well, it just blurts them out, no holds barred. Whoosh! Here it comes like a sweetly painful winter chill to get your adrenaline up and your spine a-tingle.
Hello 46th* Are you seeing this? A war has been stoked Europe has refugees - Look! The shock of it! Afghanistan and Kashmir Don’t count; neither does The Middle East Oh please! The world is used to those People, forever in the throes Of some tragedy, Some devilry, Some new-fangled holocausts Of their own
Russia, the land of Ruskis and Putin You do so hate them all, Joe Biden Your last names though Have such a harmonious ring Putin, Biden … Biden, Putin But I digress, your sentiments Have reached across the continents To grapple at the throat Of that villainous foe That Trump-loving pariah That creator of election drama That divider of the faithful And good American folks
Oh, and you’re still not over The Hunt for Red October* The hunt that Hunter* hunted Via the Kiev crossover All the chickens that got away Came home to roost and lay Their devilled eggs, without the yolks Putin had them all artichoked! You believe in all of it The fairytale, the who-dunnit To Russia is where all the trenches lead Putin has always been so full of sheeet!
So now there’s bloody war afoot The gloves are off, we’re all in it It’s the same old American adage “You’re with us or you’re with the villains” And while you’re beating That hoodoo drum The whole world is slipping Into a recession. There’s no food, no fuel, No jobs to do These trickle-down economics Don’t affect you They make their insidious paths towards The poor, the beaten, the never seen nor heard
Hellooo 46th Do you at least see How so much is attributable To you directly? The depression, the frustration The agony That is doing the rounds On its maleficent spree I can see how you wont See this like we do How? you declare, can Uncle Sam be such a brute?! But you are! You are! And a bully to boot! On a final note, dear Joe May A tad bit of third worldliness That has so diligently been foisted on us Graciously, karmically circle around To you and yours. Please be assured It will be an experience profound.
* 46th: the 46th president of the USA
* The Hunt for Red October: Tom Clancy’s debut novel, it shows the contrast between Soviet and American societies as exemplified by their militaries. Another significant theme that is played out on several levels of the novel is that of betrayal.
* Hunter: Joe Biden’s son who is rumoured to have had dodgy business connections with Ukraine.
A fond and fun tribute to all those who live in close quarters with Money Deols. May the universe keep sending you little kindnesses to make up for the relentlessness of your days 😄
I had this absolutely delicious dream Of floating amid pocketbooks laced with cream Dollar bills and five thousand notes Were sending their special bouquet up my nose
Morning came and I had to resign Those exquisite dreams to the tides of time But ever the optimist that I am I know I’ll dream of riches again
Today after breakfast I meditated On my bank balance in the United State-es My heart skipped a beat, I had to be cautious But oohhh! All that dough! So Expialidocious!
For lunch I had a sandwich and a coke My mind wandered into another nook Yes it was lined up and down with money bags I was so overcome I almost gagged
Tea was a peaceful affair as the day waned As I dipped in a biscuit my thoughts roamed again My prime real estate and other things like it Made each sip sweeter, each bite iconic
By dinner time the perfection of my day Was marred only by the distance that lay Between all my riches and my two hands That lovely bond only wealth connoisseurs understand
My prayers were modest as they always are: God please don’t ever take me far From my beloved’s legally tender embrace I bow to you, I request your benevolent grace
I then lay me down for another night Of gilded dreams and green backed sights I slowly drift off on precious wings Made of savings certificates and treasury bills
He says they’re a bunch Of thieves and thugs Who have looted the nation Of its tea and its mugs They took the dregs of the Earl grey too! Those boot-polishing, lily-livered brutes!
They say he’s a nut job with lunatic illusions Of grandeur and psuedo-pious, Dipped-in-angel-dust delusions He’s not a statesman, he’s an unbridled curse! Our friends across the pond agree that’s what he is This has-been sportsman with his peerni* and tawiz*!
The citizens bewildered and confused Are wondering with whom they should side The saga plays out again, sly and crude Where the nation is taken for a frenzied ride The horse has long since become a lame ass Feeding on national common sense with a side of grass
The Paya* and Diesel Management says a lot The Dharna* Skipper flourishes his “Absolutely Not”! The repartee continues in savage tones We watch from the relative safety of our homes Then the power goes out and all is dark The slate is wiped clean, we are back at the start
* Peerni: A Muslim holy woman
* Tawiz: An amulet worn for good luck and protection
* Paya: A specialty dish in the subcontinent, the main ingredients are trotters cooked in various spices
I’m in the throes of such exhaustion At all of this deception This shameless commandeering Of the resources of our nation This unbridalled corruption This lewd and shameless arrogance This swagger, this ostentation Like a monstrous pile of steaming Shit!
I feel so much frustration Such griping exasperation At this propaganda, misinformation At our barefaced prostration To the lords of subjugation. At our global commoditisation At all this brazen exploitation Like the hapless one who’s used to hearing Checkmate!
I carry this thing, it sits on my shoulder Some call it a chip; I call it my boulder It gnaws at my insides, it makes for low blows When I’m swirling around in its treacherous throes
I am sometimes deceitful when I feel its weight Dignity and grace I cavalierly leave at the gate If it tells me I’m worth nothing, that I’m wretchedly small I’ll lash out blindly at one and all
I grew up believing this weight that I hold Of inflated egos and machismo bold Is an age old legacy that’s been bestowed From father to son and from son down below.
With time, it has morphed into an ugly avatar Sometimes the pricks of conscience are stark But driven by habit and custom and time I let my massive chip drag me into the grime
I’m weaving this rhyme when I’m feeling lucid And can see the chip: festering and putrid Most times though it pokes me with its manly muscle: I could murder that person who honked at my Honda Vezel!
And so I go blundering and blustering through life Ego in one hand; in the other an invisible knife When my shoulder can’t bear the weight of the chip I unburden, I plot and I rage. I’m insidious.
It’s Strange How some people call all the shots For you and me; on what’s right and what’s not On how we should all live our lives On what we should want to grow and to thrive. And we follow them like so many mice The Pied Piper surely leaves us no choice
It’s Strange How some nations are on top of their game And others continually parry insults and blame Some swirl around in their blood, sweat and tears While others race on winds of good cheer And yet we stand by like so many sheep The First World Dream will not let us be
It’s Strange How the spirit of our humanity Has gone into permanent servitude For the battle of egos of the few Losing our grip on what’s right and true And we circle around like so many moths Burning our wings in the flames of their wrath
It’s Strange How hard it has become of late To step out of the comfort of the bell curve Created to kill off the being that’s you Teaching you how you must hate and love And we fight on like so many soldiers sore Thinking one more battle will win us the war
It’s Strange Even as I write these lines A question skips on the edge of my mind No, there are two for misery loves company Who’ll tell me the answers that I seek to find - When did the glow inside you cease to exist? When did Instinct and Courage let go of my wrists?
Mahvash Mohtadullah - The Roaming Desi 