Rememories or Somersaults

23 years ago now my mum was in excruciating pain. Around sehri time just after having chicken licken. I never really liked chicken licken. I dedicate Surah Noor and "Freed from desire" by Gala to this event.

On another note, I don't think you learn how to write poetry. It just happens somehow. I remember in grade 8 writing prolific verse dring exam papers. I'd finished all the questions and my brain was still buzzing. The most memorable ones were on being a kamikaze pilot and the immorality of the court of social gossip. Sweet hey:P

There's something about poetry though. It's doesn't take intelligence to read or write, yet what throws most people off is the unconventional structure. Strings of words with no frame, creating gaps and crevices. Which at first might be disconcerting, but becomes opportunistic fun. The writer ducks and dives around the corners making the reader dizzy and the more the reader tries to pin her down, the more she becomes manic. The reader then realises such a game is nonsensical and pompously decided to declare himself monarch and sovereign of these words and commands them according to his whims. The rest is hisstory as he revels in creating his own images out of words delicately positioned to entice his curiosity. Ok let's stop this and keep it kosher in case my kids do discover thenooj.

My 22nd year had it's curves and dips, notably the stressful scary academic realities and insecurities I faced and the realisation of the fragility of your loved ones' health. It had its Icarus moments too and I am ashamed to say that I still feel I owe God a lot of suffering for all the happiness He has given me. Luckily He is not an accountant:P And what I have realised is that when life gives you aloe vera (I quite like lemons), you need to dawdle on the lasagne. Which is why I guard my happy poems to take out when I taste copper. I must admit though that my creativity lurches around morbidity. Anyway, I'm publishing excerpts of 2 of my happy poems for people to read, but it works much better if they are your own.

The Year of the Cactus

His fervent irridescence shook me
How do you embrace this early?
It is time, he replies, but have a moment
To lash your eyes
Pay tribute to my vital descent
You must this mortality comprehend

Gently I ignore his fragrant energy
And travel beyond my sensuality
To aching muscles bearing will and hope
To laughter measured not in days but years
And sorrow measured by torrents of cleansing tears
To networks of beats that buoyed my existence
To gawps and gasps that make my other wince

To my irrational intuition begging me to stay a while
To the hardships that ended in wrinkling smiles
To Noorjehaan whose shine doth grow
Again and again throughout this show
To fears that now alight my glow
To the double pair within my soul
Without you I would never have known

Of course to He who has sent him
As a bleeping for the end of Spring
In whose Guidance I was always certain
But doubted my own determination
To the drops I shelter deep within
To the outside where I’ll never win
But I ran and I fell and I got up dancing

Thus I mystify my perpetual memories
I did not learn but felt wisdom in my burns
And that has made all the difference...

This one sounds narcissistic

Oh the beautiful story of nooj
Has so many twists and turns
Things granted in beauty and love
Opportunities embraced and scorned
The way this dunya rolls
Has many confunded mysteries
But my parable amazes ceaselessly
Through Noor and strife
Confusion and kites

I cling on in the unconditional Hope
Of the coming Dawn