[pathopoetry] workday condolences

I got the message before leaving for work
And I was so sad
but I still left

I am so sorry

a shot of pain
but life interferes
stifle the hurt
dam up the tears

and go on, you go on
though the morning is thick and dim
you pull the drawstring on your throat
and clasp shut your ribs

because it is
so sad

In the evening I came to see you
in your disquiet
and tried to say
something soft and meaningful
with a closed throat

I am so silent, I am so sorry

And I know I have no real share in this
my grief is peripheral to yours
the open door brought a cold draft in -
and I stand briefly in the chill
but soon will return
where it is still warm

while you remain, frostbitten to the bone
people come but people go
and are so sad, and are so sorry,
but life interferes

we warm up again
you drain
the tears

nothing but patience, beautiful patience
to Allah we belong, and to Him we return
only Allah
never leaves you alone.


[pathopoetry] the bed siege

Our bed has been seized and occupied
by a long-johned midget vigilante
traitor! - who just drew from my own decanter
and now lies, pleasantly drunk and victorious

he has set up base behind a duvet mountain
manipulated an advantaged terrain -
changed the topography to ensure he has
singular control of all domain;
strategically positioned himself in the center
at an absurd angle, leaving us no choice
than separation, each working stealthily to claim
on the outskirts, some section of land

but the east of the territory is terrorized
by unpredictable feet, and the west
by roaming hands expert in close combat
swift to strike if suddenly disturbed
(bloodcurdling screams in the dark from the pull
of unwary tresses, and if the battle call sounds
feline gashes on the face
piercing worse than shrapnel)

sir we have no choice but to retreat -
forfeit for a time, but to reinforce
the boundaries with pillows like sandbags at a flood
lest this rolling cannonball pitch over the hull
and bide our time, away to the sofa
until the commando has sunk in deeper slumber
when, disadvantaged by size, we may start our operation:
his cautious relocation (excising a land mine! -)
and huddle, expectant, somewhere by the border


[pathopoetry] desk

sever this chair from me please
cut away this desk, this extended appendage
can I be excised from the tumour that displaces me
drains a pint of my self each day
or have I passed out? because I can't remember,
I don't know, I don't know where I am

[pathopoetry] hmm

those times I just say hmmm
the scene around me unpercieved has dimmed
I've drifted on a stealthy current unaware
pulled down by an undertow unresisting
into a murky deep of thought;
when, with a mute gasp, I rush and return
to the brightness of the surface
I'm always frightened
I don't know how long I've drowned


[pathopoetry] because you once called me fairy

call me dishrag.
some years ago, never mind how long precisely,
I was no scouring brush, I had my own lustre
now I'm a tarnished candelabra
it must disturb you, this reverse cinderella -
bride princess in crinoline becomes blue frog
your once snow white who was fresh as full cream
now keeping company with Frumpy, Dumpy and Grunge
but this scullery maid can still clean up nice
(and often by the stroke of midnight)
and the fairy dust has not worn off:
I am mother of Adorable, wife of Can Be Charming
daughter to a Dear - the wide eyed fawn
lock-jointed in the Medusa stare of highbeams
(quit it Bambi, this ain't no Yellow Brick Road)
wandering under the briar bushes
as the enchanted forest awaits protective legislation
biding my time in the tallest tower
as I comb out the frizz from my rope of opportunity;
so look kindly on your cinder sweeper
who still fits into that fragile slipper
now that I'm wound on the spindle of your finger
I count on you to break my lethargic stupor
we'll get out of the woods together
because you once called me fairy
because that's a chapter we both remember
let's try to keep the ending, however unoriginal -
needing no spell, but prudence and prayer:
sending for regular service and maintenance
our happily, lest it detach from ever after.

[pathopoetry] Another meeting

Another meeting, throw a brick in my brimful of grievances
drenched in bureaucracy, displace my suggestions
my tries at measured speaking for reasons earnest
hosed down by patronizing jets of correction
from a self-assured leader sitting suave as drywall
who claims flexibility, pivots on brass fasteners -
condescension oozing from cracks in the disposition - ?
rankled, I struggle to exhale repentance;
hearing resentment echoed in my own responding tone,
branded contentious by mute egg-carton spectators,
I resign myself to a pounding-head silence
and the hissing in my ears, once again deflated;
vaporize me, let me dissipate in air
travel to the space of your conscious and your comfort
while words pour thick and glistening as pancake batter
and each passing minute cranks the jack of stalled egos -
I have slipped off dripping, like fat from the bone
waiting to be permitted to sink under the floorboards.


[pathopoetry] when the sun shines

when the sun shines
after some time
I won't remember

can't hold things long enough
whether good enough, bad enough

it's just a residue
black coal soot,
the powder of a palmed butterfly.

when the sun shines
after some time
you won't remember

can't hold on long enough
whether good enough, bad enough

just a trace in air -
the smell of clinging smoke
a cloud of lavender;

but when the sun shines
that's the very time
I need to remember

what went on long enough
was it good enough, bad enough
had I done enough, had enough

whether a birth mark
or a burn.


[pathopoetry] Mmm (my edible baby)

Mmm, my edible baby, that indelible smell -
I dreamt you turned into a chocolate cake
and I ate you.

You came, a cross-species conglomeration:
kitten cries, froggy legs, feeding like a nestling -
how we discovered, sampling chipmunk cheeks,
that around you, we all turn cannibal

what alarm I felt in that dream halfway through
my indulgence of you - tried to reverse you to existence -
such relief when I awoke and I saw you lying there -
sweet little chocolate peach

with soft breadroll ankles

darling, you consume me, but I can't do the same
instead, I will sip you with kisses.


[pathopoetry] I am glad you are coming

I am glad you are coming
not quietly, but with fervour
reminding me of your presence
with strong insistence
don't forget me, you press me
I smile, reassured

not still, but with urgency
don't forget me; I imagine
your feet kicking out
to imprint my abdomen
just to make sure
and I'm proud

both of us nameless
love's double-blindness
I lay my hands to feel
you searching inside me
I am here, I am waiting
you have claimed my remembrance
you have gripped me in love

come out strong
come out screaming
I will be weak
and lost for words

Something fresh

Goodness, I just realized that this blog hasn't been updated since January, 2010 (read: 6 months, half a year, approximately 180 days give-or-take).

Ce n'est pas mort.

Let's go through a chronological list of major occurrences that may explain this (read: excuses, albeit reasonable ones).

January 2009 - Got married
November 2009 - Got pregnant
August 2010 (pending) - Giving birth (God willing)

Throw in a significantly increased workload, planning a delayed wedding reception, the logistics of your spouse moving to a new country, the 360 degree shift in perspective that comes out of sharing your life with someone, and all the wonderful and not so wonderful changes that are part and parcel of having a dependant foetus inside you, and you can see how consistent blogging loses its place on the priority list.

But does poetry?

There's the beauty of it. It simply can't, because poetry is lived. Just like you demonstrate science every day through simply going through your daily functions, you can't escape the poetry of your daily life. And honestly, I've been living poetry far better than anything I could possibly record in writing. For the first time in my life, I don't think I can capture my feelings and experiences during this whirlwind time, even in the medium I have always turned to in order to express the innermost sentiments of my existence.

Hmm. Well, now that I have a bit of time, maybe I can try.

So, whatever decent thing I can pen will go here, of course. But count on, perhaps, a complete disregard once more of this cherished space, once my baby – God willing – comes home.

Because the one thing I love more than writing poetry, is living it.