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
