January 2020

How quietly we lose

Grandparents 

To the grim arms of Death.

Before you can

Pick up the phone,

And say hello,

You end up saying 

Goodbye.

And before you know it,

The world has changed.

Only Time Will Tell

Oh my God, the crickets!

They were louder 

Than my thumping heart

That night.

A damp breeze 

Cloaked a deserted street-

No one likes a pandemic.

A sliver of a moon 

Shone on a dark world

Whose light had long left

For a worthier planet.

I brushed aside a stray lock of hair,

But the breeze brought it back,

And I wondered if

I'd ever get to shine

Or if these crickets 

Would be the only applause 

I'd ever hear.

All Poets Have A Font

I think all poets 

Have their own fonts;

At least in my head they do. 

The works of some poets are

In slanting, cursive, mysterious

Fonts

That dance on paper

Like russian ballerinas

That were always meant to be 

Famous.

Thin as a waif, lighter than a thought.

Some poets write in rotund, angry sploshes

That scream of rebellion

And uprisings.

Revolution comes through 

Their rhyme schemes,

With a defiant fist in the air.

Some poets make your heart flutter

With their pretty calligraphy.

A butterfly in mid-flight,

Unaccompanied by any dark clouds

That may rain on this parade.

Whatever you read

Will only evoke jealousy in your heart-

Ah, what I would give

To be able to write something so small

But so beauteous!

But I don't write like any of these.

My poetry feels like a collage

Of fifty-eight fonts.

They're each dancing 

To their own merry tunes.

I see big blocks of emotions

That I didn't know I'd stored within me,

And which need evaluation-

Do I need all this guilt?

Must I feel this insecurity?

Am I jinxing my own happiness?

This font isn't photogenic,

If you ask me,

But it gets the job done.

It flows obediently

From my heart to head to paper.

And the best thing is

That my font remains

Indelible.

It endures like a resilient firefly

And for that

I am proud.

Pop

Honourable, 

Optimistic,

Noble,

Charming,

Warm,

Polite,

Humble

And great-

All at once.

How do you manage it

So effortlessly, daddy?

So many colours

Add to your rainbow

And you lend them all to us

With a smile

And a lame joke-

Always making me laugh

And smile

And be happy.

Egalité

Try to wrap your head around the fact

That 

A feminist only wants 

Equality. 

A penny for a penny,

Credit where it's due,

Opportunities to shine 

(Specially when you're a born shooting star).

I'm not snatching away

Your share of the feast, Men.

I am only claiming my seat

On this table.

I wonder why we are so hated

When what we essentially fight for

And dream of

Is acceptance and respect

And the abolishment of boundaries

That segregate girls and boys;

Telling the boy he is better

Simply because of a lacking chromosome,

Telling the girl she is inferior

Simply for having an opinion.

If you hate a feminist

Then perhaps now is the time

To wash off your hate

While you scrub away at your hands.

Emulate Lady Macbeth, for once.

Wash away the millenia 

Of jealous lies told by insecure men

That strong women are witches,

Girls with loud voices are harlots,

Feminists are evil dikes who burn bras.

No, we are not.

We are lovers, doctors, mothers,

And everything else in the rainbow

Just like our sons and our fathers.

We don't hate men, 

We birth them. 

Move quietly and respectfully 

As we take our rightful seats on the table

And nobody gets hurt.

Otherwise

Another entire generation

Grows up believing a lie

That serves no one, once again.

Try to stop saying 'feminist'

Like it's a virus that must be culled.

(It's like cringing as you utter an adjective

About manliness.

Nobody cringes when you're called macho).

It's a good word; say it proudly.

And as you are stuck at home

On another perfect day

Repeat after me-

I will promise to always let you have

Your share of the feast.

This world is to beautiful

And life is too short

For such manmade concoctions

Of hatred.

Airport Mystique

What is it about that damp caffeinated smell that all airports around the world seem to bear? It electrifies me, drives away my sleep no matter how close to dawn or midnight the hour hand might be. You could be ordering a beer or testing a new makeup pallette at 5am and that would still be ordinary; mundane, even. And there's something about this that emancipates me and makes me feel like I'm about to embark upon an exciting adventure. 

I miss seeing men and women in suits dragging their trolleys towards security check-points wearing an air of importance. I miss seeing kids going berserk as their harrowed parents try to reign them in, away from toy stores that entice them and duty-free chocolate stalls with the choicest offerings in the land. I miss holding my husband's hand as we stroll past all of this with a new stamp on our passports, itinerary for the next day ready in my trusted old planner, bags on our backs and no cellular reception. 

We've seen the world together, but like Holly Golightly rightly sang, there's such a lot of world to see. I want to see the pyramids as the sun sets against their golden peaks. I want to climb the Andes and pet llamas in Machu Picchu. I want to swim with my son in the Maldivian waters. I want to rent a little cottage in Scotland and wait till the Loch Ness monster shows up. I want to win money in the casinos in Las Vegas and fly a chopper over the Grand Canyon. I want to taste different types of cheese with my parents in an Alpine village. 

But somehow, most of all, I want to be at an airport at some distant corner of the world where nobody knows me but my partner. 

I imagine him looking at me from afar as I walk towards him; he's holding our bags and smiling a silly smile at me. I smile back at him because it's just too contagious to ignore his dimple. "Should we get some coffee?" he asks. "There's still an hour before our next flight". 

"Fine. I wonder what they'll serve for breakfast on the plane. I hope they have croissants!" I reply. And we walk on towards the nearest cafe in the food court, holding hands, butterflies in our tummies because we're happy and excited about the journey up ahead.

I can't wait to travel again.