If I could live another life with you I’d talk of a few more things More palpably, more honestly with you Of things that gnawed At my mind; at the way my gut wrenched Balling up inside, or even when The pit of my belly dissolved In a fluttering crush of butterflies I’d speak of love light-footed and pure The kind that knocks you to the floor And the next instant pins shimmering wings On your tingling spine so you can fly High high, breath-catchingly high!
I’d talk of heartbreaks too That shred the organs into little bits Where the pain ripples in screaming peals My thoughts marking time with the cacophony Where I stumble on my own feet Where I want to just lie down and feel Nothing for a while I’d share secrets that I have held deep inside Now frozen, frigid, petrified Mute scars of speechless agonies Never named, never identified
I’d also tell you that I loved My quiet, my solitude When it was just me in my room Or just you and me Sipping tea In the lounge, watching tv And then I’d tell you about the things That would make my tone-deaf heart sing A constant humming underneath Beneath the sheath of my skin Of peace that was soothing, softening Of flame-bright hope and quiet joy
I’d talk to you Of beginnings and of endings too Some tragic some tender Of sometimes going under But always re-surfacing, I would Talk of spirituality, the ethereal kind That makes the hair stand on end The kind that quickens your breath That makes life and even death A fleeting, splendorous enterprise A mystical trip with no finish line
And when your time here or mine Was drawing to a close Together we would Strum those notes One last time Of all the things that we’d talked about And all the times that we had spent And then I’d have held your hand in mine We would have laughed and we would have cried And we would have laughed again Because nothing would have been left Unsaid, unfelt at the end.
Today I woke up to clouds Sitting in the morning sky They’d been there a while They looked cozy-comfortable Their greyness was all shades From the smoky pearl of sparrows eggs To the steeliness of granite They were contented in just being There was no bloated turgidity To their form, no urgency To spend themselves To waterously end themselves To cut their rain-sodden wrists To release the essence from their seams In a tryst with vanity Of azure blue visions and dreams
These clouds they rolled in differently Serenely, so quietly They lay claim upon the sky Wiping out all the sunlight But there were no thunderous sighs No jagged lightning in their eyes No weeping sheeting pouring rain No genesis, no annihilation
These clouds they swept in differently Stirring up a little breeze Cool, it brushed against my skin There was no banshee trapped within Wailing of storms and other things The darkness lingered for a while It left a whisper in the breeze A silver rustle in the trees Then gently, gently it went by.
I sit with my tea The silence sits with me Deafeningly Piercing my eardrums With its wordless cacophony
It has made its forever home In the lounge where I now sit alone It’s been there a while Years of rooting itself in place The air, the space Is soundless, still Like the world in night’s numbing vigil I look around for something Anything to cut through the dead air Its atoms conspiring With the silence that sits everywhere
And then I see it, a little plume Floating, dancing in the room From my mug As the tea steams up Severing the bond of silence and air The desolate, deflated, joyless pair Their essence once filled With people now gone The moist vapor wafts in Reaching into spaces Where images, reminiscences Lie inert, forsaken Loosening, thawing, warming them
I take a sip of my tea I feel my spine tingle Familiarly As I’m wrapped in the arms Of rekindled memories.
The winter mist is rolling in Tracing umbras and penumbras On liquid walls conjuring Illusions of nostalgic things Like tapestries of sunny hills And shadowlands where valleys stretch Into soft concaves Of velvety days shimmering At their edges, glimmering In the halos of lit up orbs Glittering, pulsating Watching and observing all Like eager sentries making sure The invading mist Covets no more Than the silver kiss That it bestows On each doorway As it tiptoes In and then away Into the darkness further along All the while As it glides Whispering its vapory song.
I want to walk into the sunset Far, far away from here Find a portal for myself, whisk away to somewhere else Far away from here But my dear what then? What will become of you I think I’m the crutch that you lean on The weathered plank that you pace on Ironically your prop so hardy Has grown a rift, become foolhardy A fissure sprung in my core Where it must mature into rings Of mellow age and other things But the cleft, a secret break Hidden away has slowly swelled With snaggy splinters, spiny edged Letting in light that I had lost Golden- yellow, shimmering, quiet And it has cleaved the crack some more More and more clearly I see the door Where the gleam keeps pulling me Towards the sunset thrilling me Far, far away from here.
I see the sea, a mottled grey As she holds on,just barely To a hazy vestige Of her tranquil turquoise sheen It was just an hour ago That she wore her majesty Cloaked in all her blues and greens But even she This creature of serenity Has her days when she shifts Off her axis of evenness When she fusses and fumes in choppy tones Sending currents of fear through mortal bones Her discontentment carried in The surf that comes crashing in To where I stand holding my breath In my bare feet, toes inward-crept She sloshes, washes over me Her touch, gritty-soft As she caresses me Tough-lovingly For behind her fearsome gaze And beneath her maddened mien She’s still the nurturer, the queen.
My palm in the flower pot Has grown tall Each frond strong A testament to nurture Mine, I like to believe And the perfection Of where she lives in our home Hers and mine Our spaces combined She sits across from me Diagonally In the warmth of the floor lamp An IKEA purchase A capitalist ploy gone right She sits light in her loamy soil In the soft glow From the 6 watt trio of bulbs Sometimes of a late evening My day done, when I’m thinking Of nothing in particular, she Waves a grand green frond at me In a little conversation A whisper in the quietness A reminder maybe That we’re still here In our little eden of serenity I smile at her my mouth lifting up My spirits in its curve She rustles happily Lightening in that moment Also the lines on my palms Sweetening destiny My palm in the flower pot In that mystical little moment Stirs the whole cosmos around me.
I resolved to write egged on By echo-braised recipes Of grating voices and bitter hearts And chopped up memories They tossed about inside my head Seize-sizzling, beet-bloody Of you is who I tried to write As bits of you fell in In-cisor cut, unholy messed Out and in of my sight I took my pen The scene was set I would write of pent up things Of audacious consequence But my pen lent itself more To gnawing contemplation A cooked-up imagination As it bickered in my mouth The words they just sat there Headless, fleshless, boneless, bare I chewed again upon the pen They leapt aloft and hovered then For a bit before they bit Me on my purposeful lip The drop of blood Drop.ped on my page There was no plot there was no stage There was no more righteous rage For them to come off eloquent And so I laid down the pen Let down my resolute bun Bun-dled off my peaceless pique Pick-ed all of myself up then Set free an ex-heal-ation I don’t think that I’ll try again.
Mahvash Mohtadullah 