I have lost the rituals Of faith. But my devotion has Become stronger. I no longer Am afraid or confused by questions that Whirl around in my head Never to be brought into existence Their very substance damning Pounding, hammering a path to (h)elsewhere I now wear a cloak around My shoulders. It holds a super power A texture all its own. When I’m alone It reminds me of who I am It fosters my introspection It champions who I want to be And then I feel No other burden of pretense Or suspense No fear of consequence For being so much more And ritualizing less I have no dire need to find my Hallowed steed to gallop on with Me holding on, bound for paradise This life, this blessed life is mine To treat with such passion Such tenderness, that earth Our beautiful earth Itself becomes the Eden I seek My paradise is under my own feet.
It was so, that palpitations on the go Were what this brew Bestowed on me willy nilly Everytime I put a mug of it To my lips and took a sip
That cup-o-java treacherous
Time took its stride, I began to write And the gentle infusions Of earl grey tea and BOP Just lost the zing they brought to things Robot, human and alien
As onto joe I transitioned
Now I’m somewhat of a connoisseur Of the brew, and what have you I cringe when it is less than perfect My taste buds scream at every defect In a mug or cup or a takeaway
That I encounter through my days
I tell this story because today Is alas one of those days Where my joe, is a little slow In bewitching my senses as I conjecture Its milky hue and grainy texture Grounds afloat like demon specters No soulful brew, no gods’ nectar The stuff of theses, TEDx lectures I could go on, but suffice to say
Wars rage across the globe Black tender weaponized, legalized, expedited Back into western folds Pockets lined with silver and gold
And the rain falls
Billionaires wearing t-shirts and jeans Their assets splitting at the seams Go to the moon To float around in zero gravity With their mugs of civet coffee
And the rain falls
Priests and rabbis and the clergy Preach from pulpits blood-streaked With people sacrificed, ostracized, cast aside As God is their witness, we all see
And the rain falls
A woman takes in an elder drenched In torrents that wrenched The next meal and rent From his shaking hands He cries without a sound His tears surge into the floods Rolling down Crimson-hued carrying blood From the mountains to the sea As the country drowns.
How long has it gone on for? I have lost count of the days and the months And the number of times Facts and fiction have been combined Made to stand hand in hand By the gentiles that stain these lands Caricaturizing, miming scenes Of zealotry and genocide
I have lost count Of the number of hospitals bombed Ruins atop tunnels where the Khamas abound And the aid workers killed Unidentified dangrerous women and men And the journalists sniped With their arsenal of 1984 daggers and knives And the doctors shot With nitroglycerin bombs hidden in their surgical gowns And the men raped in prisons With propagandist lore stuffed up their intestines And the women maimed Their bellies heavy with terrorist babes And the children killed Starved and stilled Their sinful blood spilled On the promised land
How long before this evil doth cease How long before the chosen ones can finally live in peace?
Beautiful, strong and regal That’s how this goddess is described She is the queen of all the gods And helps families unite
Although she is a champion Of women and their lives Her heart is full of poison For her husband’s many lies
She is married to grand old Zeus Who loves being with the ladies Hera has tried with all her might To send him off to Hades*
But the god of death cannot best Zeus and his lightning bolt So Hera now tortures her step children With punishements untold
When Hera is having a good day She is sweet, gentle and kind The cow, the peacock and the cucukoo Shine as her symbols divine
But when she is angry with Zeus She is as jealous as a goose Zeus says sorry and stands on his head And then finally there is a truce
Along with Zeus and his lightning bolt Hera lives with her cuckoo and crown She reigns from above on mount Olympus But to earth, she rarely comes down.
Oh look at that beautiful dragonfly It’s turning somersaults Its peacock coloured gossamer wings Perfect, without fault! But you didn’t catch the fleeting glimpse It bestowed upon this scene You were on your phone lost in Digital worlds upon your screen
Did you see that butterfly Just sit upon my arm Brown and orange-yellow wings It was full of golden charm! You missed its quickening beauty As it said hello and went You were caught in your own loop Eyes down, heart still, head bent
I had to hold my breath there That scene was so sublime The grand eagle swooping down And then soaring back up high! Where, where? you ask me now As you look at an empty sky You were fretting, agitating As nature sprang her wondrous surprise
Glittering dragonflies, murmurations Eagles in majestic flight A shower of blossoms, a ladybird loveliness Nature exulting in life Magical, mystical, shimmering marvels Surround us at all times Some of us get to revel in their beauty Some stay trapped by Sentinel Time
I get out of bed, slowly, numbly The morning dopamine has not kicked in In fact, I have no sense of it I sigh … that’s never a good sign It’s going to be one of those days again
I turn off the AC The gentle hum that had filled the spaces Where my happy hormone should have been racing Stops. I blink slowly I look at my bedroom slippers Their shadowy forms Like yesterday’s leaves Plucked off by the breeze Lie on the ground
I get up and look at my curtains Drawn together like knitted brows Beige-blonde brows in a frown Censorial, dragging down I can’t bring myself to touch Those sulking folds To draw them back In the ritual Of morning time
I sit on the stool in front of my dressing table I look at the woman Staring back at me Barely visible, her outline perseveres Reminding me that I am still here I watch her for a while Feeling nothing - vacuous space And then I see something glimmer At the back in the mirror
The prism that I had hung up A vestigial piece of love From a chandelier that has long since Ceased to grace the space above Had caught the first ray of light That had tried to flow Into my chamber of shadows Teasing, romancing it Holding, embracing it In all its radiant rainbow hues
I turn around towards this scene Of sudden brightness I get up, pull back the curtain Just a little bit. The colours Fall in shimmering streams Across my feet I lift one up and then the other I slowly dance with the rainbow of colour My blood gushes warm, I have to smile It doesn’t seem like another dog day after all.
Spring turns to autumn which moults Into winter. The winds blow cold And the skies are a myriad shades Of grey. The trees in their glades Stand stark and naked. Their leaves Now mottled, dying underneath Trampling feet. Hurrying feet across Paths well trodden and paths that are lost In the gloom. Winter’s dirge Fills the spaces in between to merge With the mist. She throws a blanket On the quiet world. And then she touches My cheek. I turn my face away and she spreads Her arms. I’m enveloped from toes to head From right hand to left. I stand still And let her feel. She takes her fill And then undoes her vapory hold. I finally see The path stretching clear ahead of me
Dedicated to the memory of all those young people who struggled to fit into the norms dictated by their communities and who lost that battle. May the second wind in your sails be glorious and joyful.
I’m going to tell you a little story Of a girl who loved too much Lived too much, hoped too much They said, she was too much! She was a queen, a young one But she had that zest for life That is so rare and beautiful That is also so ominous and direful
The story goes that she was born In the wrong place at the wrong time Nothing seemed to feel right in fact She was told to be someone that She wasn’t. She was taught, against her will To be the clone of a fantasy That had persisted for centuries
And so the queen crumbled Atom by atom, bit by bit, little by little She fell apart like a young sapling That has been buffeted and knocked about By righteous winds whipped up By those who were afraid of her Of our queen getting out of the box That they had so faithfully built for her
She finally broke into a million pieces And she plummeted She had once known how to fly like an eagle To soar up to the top of the world But that memory was gone, pounded out And so she fell Hitting the ground six feet deep And that is where she now sleeps.
Mahvash Mohtadullah 