It is feeling like the world has overcome You body and soul and then some It’s like drowning in a bottomless sea Gasping, gasping, trying to breathe Sputtering, choking reaching for air Crashing, thrashing limbs everywhere It’s feeling the whole world closing in Vision blurring, darkness descending. It’s being sure that many endings are near Of wanting, of living and even of fear It’s feeling the numbness spread like a pall Binding you, blinding you even as you fall Into the swirling, whirling abyss Of dead emotions, of nothingness
It’s finally seeing the smallest of gleams Picking the darkness at its hoary seams Little by little the flicker grows bright Ever so slowly it pierces the night Your leaden heart too warms in the heat Resuming its vital, pulsating beat You rise to the surface on a rip tide You’re thawing and warming on the inside You break the surface of your despair As your throttled lungs fill up with air Gasping, gasping you take in a breath Sputtering and choking you hold on to the thread Of the world coming back within reach Hope on strong wings, has ended the siege
She gathers you up in her healing arms Anointing you with her soothing balms Freeing you, steeling you so that you may walk Another day with strength and love in your heart.
Written amidst the mind-numbing perils of never ending curfew lockdowns. Read at your own mental risk 🤓
Tak taka tak - Tak Tak Kaun hai bhai bata ab tak
CHINA!
CHAI NA girana babu Bari tarpay tarpay tarpay Meri leg not so halkay halkay
Knock knockity! Knock Knock Who’s there, before I click back the lock
ZEBRA!
ZE BRA in France is black or white Practical and just hugging one right And if you feel the added zeal Add some colour, like lilac and teal.
Tap ti tap tap - Tap Tap Who is it? That was a fine rap
LIZARD!
LIZ ‘EARD you call her “mighty stout” You really put your foot in your mouth! She may be big but she’s got style She’ll make you eat your words for a mile
Ding da ding ding- Ding Dong Who is it? Come sing us a song
RHINO! O-O! O…OOOO!
Mr. RAI, NO we will not do this Mrs Rai yes it’s all the craze Rainbow coloured hair for you And I will go for baby blue
Clap de clap clap - Clap Clap Who goes there? Who gives my door a thwack?
‘Tis me MAYNA!
MAY NA bhoolonga MAIN NA bhoolongi My nemesis is bharta de cauliflower And mine is garbanzo beans!
Open the door for salvation Open the door for your soul Who … who’s there? ‘Tis me your moral sense, Call me your conscience No punning, rhyming words here No weighty equations. Just you and me and clarity That’s been lost too long at sea
I’m deaf! I’m deaf! I can’t hear you Ps. I’ve not seen any clarinet either! (Hehe!) So the door stays closed, barred and locked Not opening any windows neither! Go elsewhere, go where you can be heard The (h)earless are quite rampant here Don’t come knockity knocking upon my door Amd I’ll pretend as if you were never here - dear!
A tribute to all the young women who are constantly attempting to be bigger than the patriarchal shadows cast upon them. (This is in specific response to the most recent mauling by hundreds of men, of a girl who was making a video on Independence Day at Minar-e-Pakistan – a monument ironically, symbolising freedom and self determination).
There was once an average girl Average I use to disclaim That she was your happy gal next door Not your wild and sassy dame
Not that there’s much wrong with that It’s for those who tend to decry The women greater than their veil Behind which they ought to hide
Hide away from prying eyes Hide away from sin Hide their bodies, hands and feet Hide their existence
The Sin that marches all about Ready to be employed In the lawless caveman hands Of any man or boy
She decided she was bigger than The shadows that cloaked her being She was going to live her life She would do so many things
She already had a fan base She was a minor TikTok star She would post quirky things Of her adventures near and far
And so it was on Freedom Day Full of patriotic zeal That she went to the Minar* To capture the national feel
And there is when it happened The Sin awaiting its Amen Was pulled to its fruition By hundreds of stir-crazed men
Mauled and savaged was that girl Because she had essayed To be more than the sum of her Shadows and opaque veils
And that’s the ominous legacy Our nation tends to bestow On any woman who attempts To spread her wings, to grow.
There was once an average girl She’s as average as she seems In the Rank and file of nameless girls Who’s dreams have been “washed clean”
* Minar: Means “Tower” in Urdu. Here it refers to Minar-e-Pakistan
A satirical take on some of the fairy tales we’ve grown up with. Can you guess each of the four Scary Tales? 🤓
You know I kind of hate you With your magic and your spells Always trying to help folks Always being so swell My father’s on his own trip Marrying yet again I wanted all his attention Now of my existence you’re the bane So I’m going to show you up as The evil step mom in the wings Going to booze and then I’ll snooze And await my Prince Charming
I’ll do you better with my step fam A mother and her progeny! I curse the day I met them The entire simpering family! I’m irked by their sweet faces These step sisters of mine Always minding their Ps and Qs, Dimpling their saccharine smiles. I’ll raise a big fake scandal Of their meanness and their pride Pater will have no choice But to have them thrown outside.
I’m a bit of a peculiar one I loved my solitude Until father brought in New Mom My lonesomeness to loot Always laughing, always nice So gleeful and alive I’d been cringing night and day At her effusive vibe So I plotted insidiously and By and by got myself out I now have my own tower For my tresses and my gout.
You’ve all taken so long to weave Yourselves into this rhyme We got rid of our step mom One bread crumb at a time. She insisted on healthy food And also bushels of love Ugh! No! We wanted none of that So we arranged for witchy stuff Old Dame Crone opened her home To us to live with her Ice cream and pizza off the doors In bed, Twix and Ferrero Rocher!
The old wives tales of mean step moms Are a riot and a half But we are not complaining; No! We’re having the last laugh Princesses and Cinder-gals We’ve all got our own quirks And truth be told, we oft unfold Into audacious jerks These scary tales are the flip side Of the happy ever after Sometimes the cackle that you hear Is our malificent laughter.
Our blue green world has gone to POT Not the stuporous, cheering kind The elating, fascinating kind The happily beclouding kind The angst all a-blurring sort No, all that it certainly is not
But our world has gone to POT Not the souffle baking sort Not the healthy steaming kind Not the chicken tikka fry Nor the chuck roast braising sort No, none of that comforting lot
But our world has gone to POT Not the bowel movement kind The cleansing of the intestines The calming morning ritual kind The 1 kg load lessening sort No, of the closet family it’s not
But our world has gone to POT Moral compass broken down Compassion harder to be found Dignity, serenity, gratefulness Are just so many hollow sounds In the flowing waters of life From cresting fullness back to the ground
Yes, our world has gone to POT Not the stuporous, cheering kind Not the soufflé baking sort Not the morning ritual kind. But the saddening, maddening sort The depressing, disappointing sort The “I’m done with it. Over and out” That’s how our world is going to pot.
I am the quintessential introvert There was a time I had my social spurts But all that seems like a lifetime ago The Corona gave that spacetime a blow
I absolutely love my solitude When I say ‘Leave me be’ I’m not being rude It’s just the way I’m internally wired Too much nodding and smiling just makes me tired
That’s not to say that I spurn the cliche Of the Island that No Man Is I’m just more prone to proverbs that sweep Through Still Waters that tend to Run Deep
And now I’m on the back foot yet again By that adage I didn’t mean I’m a Brain An Einstein, a Galileo or an Edison (Well .. maybe a tad like A. Tennyson)
Dear reader I’m the embodiment of reserve I don’t seek adulation that is undeserved But even as I spin this meter and rhyme I think every enterprising poet doth have her time
In the shining confluence of our universe Of writers, and scribblers, masters of verse But since I’m the quintessential introvert I’ll tell my tales from my quiet corner on earth
Still, if by some providential twist of fate Some of you think that my writing’s first rate Know that I still love my solitude I’ll thank ye kindly and then I’ll respectfully brood.
She bubbles and she froths She spills over on the table cloth She frolics and she plays My steaming mug of latte
Voluminous creamy lace Hiding her caffeinated face Her heart swells in youthful glee On the table in front of me.
I read; wait a while; turn a page In latte time, it’s already middle age The lace is tattered, burnt skin showing through The passionate heat has left the brew
Mindful of its waning charm, I grip My mug of latte to take a sip I grimace, the perfect moment has passed I get a mouthful of tepid coffee, alas! She’d sat before me, in gracious state I ignored the moment, realized too late
And so it is with so much in our lives Rich with serendipity, with do-overs rife But we sit back ignoring the universe Rueing our luck - ‘Our fate is cursed!’ Opportunities come and pass us by ‘It’s just God’s will’ we blame it on high
But here’s the truth, simple and clear The passivity, the stupor is unfounded fear So as each opportubity bubbles and froths Onto your life’s pristine table cloth Know this is your moment to make your own Reach out to receive it before it has flown.
KINDNESS, it’s such a simple thing And yet we speak of it like it was the benevolence of kings DIGNITY, such a basic quality And yet we are in awe of it like it was the Pope’s homily COURAGE, that gritty stuff of warriors! We speak of it like it was an unmasterable barrier HONESTY, its whiteness, and its shades of grey Always so elusive, like catching the sun’s rays Being SELF-AWARE, that dialogue with one’s core Only Maharishis* can ever open up that door
Depleting self-suggestion tells us How unconquerable are the odds Of mastering these exalted traits; This stuff of Allamahs* and gods. Look within yourself and tell me That you don’t see the shimmer Of all these “divine” elements Some bright, some a little dimmer
It’s time to wrap yourself in your kindness and dignity To feel the potent warmth of your courage and honesty That is you, that’s how you were built to be Take your inertia and your self doubt And finally throw them out to sea.
* Maharishi: A great Hindu sage or spiritual leader
* Allamah: An honorary and prestigious title carried by only the very highest scholars of Islamic thought, jurisprudence, and philosophy. It is used as an honorific in Sunni Islam as well as in Shia Islam. Allamah is a leader for the Islamic faith.
This is for Noor, Qurat-ul-Ain, Saima and the countless nameless others that we never get to hear of, that have lost their lives to the shameless, lawless brutality of the men in their lives.
I am a man I was born the only son of the family I was born in the arms of plenty even when scarcity surrounded me I was born with a silver spoon in my mouth even while my sisters shared the dregs of their copper bowls I was born with the mantle of privilege and opportunity cloaking my lusty body.
I am a man I grew up learning that I was better than my sisters. I grew up knowing I was special. I grew up expecting the world to be my oyster. I grew up demanding that every whim and every fancy be fulfilled as naturally as I breathed.
I am a man I know I am one of the special Male Fraternity I know I have a world of unique advantages in my patriarchal homeland I know that I can let my unbridled desires carry me on strong, brawny wings I know that I can have anything I want.
I am a man I take what I want every time I want it I seize what my heart desires whenever it feels thus inclined I possess by true means or false, whatever I covet I destroy by any means I can that which I cannot have.
I am the man I am the man who wanted a woman who did not want me I am the man who was insulted, offended, livid at this dismissal of my desires I am the man who then ignited the flame of his honour and masculinity I am the man who avenged the unrequited heat of his loins
I am the man I was born with the mantle of privilege and opportunity cloaking my lusty body. I grew up knowing I was special. I knew that I could have anything I wanted. I destroyed by any means that which I could not have. I am the man who ended her.
This started out as a children’s poem and ended on a not so PG-13 note. (Or maybe I’m being overly protective of our 21st century babes who are not so much in the woods as we were!). Anyway, reproducing it here for my readers. Let me know what you think. Cheers.
There was once a teabag The orange pekoe kind More shy and timid little leaves Would be hard to find
She sat in her little bowl With all her other tea friends Raspberry and watermelon And Lemon tea with mint
They tried to talk to O. Pekoe But she would turn away Wrapping her little string around Her cream coloured sachet
Then one day the tea bags saw The handsome Earl grey gent He sat in his silver foil Scented and Elegant
They looked at him whispering And twirling their little strings While O. Pekoe sat primly there Now and then peeking at him
Then came the lady of the house And put the kettle on The teabags rustled in suspense Who’d Earl Grey have along?!
Earl Grey sat gracefully Inside the china cup Wearing his special perfume Waiting for his tea time love
And then out of the blue Orange pekoe was lifted up And placed alongside Earl Grey In the pretty China cup
They smiled at one another Their strings twirling in love The perfect pair to ever make The nicest tea in a cup.
Mahvash Mohtadullah 