I slip into me
Reclining back to pre-big bang
Back to singularity.
When I close my eyes, behind the trailing soft white fog of the Holy Spirit, I see a Vedantic vermillion sun embalm my hollow lacunas. It feels comfortable.
Existence slows into quantum elasticity.
In the century old biting fog of December
Some old stillborn awakes
Reminding me of wrinkled finger tips when I soaked myself in the pool of Virgin Mary’s tears.
Seeking a thousand sombre sermons.
Each piano note leaves behind an ever growing ripple of tickles within my rib cage.
Carrying your personal cross isn’t new, lifting your own heavy self is compulsory reading.
Only to be caressed by a Celtic goddess, gentle in understanding, welcoming of your own quivering vulnerability.
In some awakening quiet mist, flowing underneath temporal seas.
A garlic yawn of pungent life, home-made bloody broth inside a womb.
An old friend left his smell back in my courtyard, to keep me cosy while he traded silver nose-rings in foreign lands.
I remember water wells and red berries, which we stole from minstrels.
My abdomen sweetly aches holding camphor rivulets.
You remember how Noor Bano used to tie her piggy tails neatly every evening after she studied the shadows on the walls of the mosque.
Witch doctors from far and wide came with oils and amulets, but nobody could stop her from speaking in tongues.
Oh, how we nose-dived into oblivion in those roller coasters.
Watching the swirling red and fluorescent green of the carnival lights pass us by
Our youth was spent in weaving thrill
Our summer evenings were spent resting on the cool white marble behind the lake.
We spent our Novembers with Ouija boards and cinnamon
I know not when I found myself in the quagmire
When did silence coil heavy over the railway tracks
Leaving me to piece together the last few hours
After my brother drank a neurotoxic potion to forget himself.
The heavy smoke over the gigantic station clock only grew denser, so much so, that by and by I found my cure in amnesia
No more late night taxi rides around Victoria Memorial for me. No more. Enough is enough.
Noor Bano -- Ali Shaikh