Thursday, November 27, 2003

Grief is a person at their most honest. I sit on the floor, huddled against the white of the shiny half-enameled wall- paint that’s easy to clean sticky grandchild fingerprints and muddy hands off. Cold seeps through the thin carpet and I can only look at the white-swathed corpse in short, furtive glances, as if I were intruding on his privacy by staring at the shock of white beard, the high forehead darkened in the centre by namaaz, the stillness of his face itself. It’s a little frightening. There is a pungent smell in the air, roses and something else I cannot identify, mixing itself with the sunny blue sky outside to create a familiar sense of unreality. And the faces that surround me are somehow beautiful in their stark sorrow. There is no pretense left in the wideness of their unnaturally bright eyes, the uncertain curve of their mouths, the way their fingers lie twined and helpless in their laps; there is no self-consciousness in the way they wipe away tears with their fingers, blow their noses with pink toilet roll or huddle in a protective cluster around him. For a while, it doesn't matter anymore. I pull my shawl closer about my ears to better hide the gold hoops I’m wearing for Eid and I am reminded of the last time I held someone’s hand in the same desperate clutch- so tight, as if she could draw life and strength out of my palm and into hers. Aunty sits in front of me and to a backdrop of muffled sobs and reddened eyes she stares at her father, and I wonder what she is saying to him behind the misery of her sphinx eyes as she gently, with a tender hand, adjusts the sheet around his face and kisses his cheek.

Mina at 6:34 PM


Sunday, November 23, 2003

And I wonder if everything I do
I do instead
Of something I want to do more
The question fills my head
I know that there's no grand plan here
This is just the way it goes
And when everything else seems unclear
I guess at least I know

I do it for the joy it brings

Joyful Girl ~ Ani DiFranco

Mina at 9:12 PM


Friday, November 21, 2003

It is a wond’rous thing, a flower is. Trees are green, with sturdy thick trunks. Leaves and seeds, green and in the autumn, colours that a sunset would borrow if it were missing a shade. But trees are spindly and bare in the winter, with naked branches opening yearning arms to the sun and sky for the kiss of spring, the warm breath of fruition. Trees are dependable and trees are strong. Trees will shade friend and foe alike, and will drop its fruit for anyone who asks.

But a flower. Ah, a flower.

A flower will bloom into a riot of fragrance and colour suddenly, overnight, once a year. Only once a year, and that too for a skilful hand in the garden. Not any old fool can grow flowers. Flowers need attention, props to curl their tendrils against, other flowers to compete and plants to flirt with. Flowers bloom for love, for what reason does a flower have to bloom, but regeneration, and creation of fruit from a bud? A flower will swirl its skirts daintily in the wind, teasing the bees and the butterflies to come visit her. A flower will coyly furl its petals at dusk, leaving its admirers to count the minutes till dawn, when she will emerge again, radiant in the crystal glimmer of night’s dew. A flower will drink in the sun and the soil’s goodness and in itself create the image of everything divine nature has to offer- and at the height of its glory and beauty, wither quietly in the night. A flower will slip away from your fingers quicker than you can draw breath; it life-force, its pomp and show will fade into a small brown husk just as suddenly as it unveiled itself in its splendour, for a flower is such a fragile web of transparent tint and innocent joy. It lifts its face to the world in such a frank expectation of adoration one cannot help but stop and loudly exclaim one’s awe.

Flowers need to be humoured, you see.

Mina at 9:32 PM


Sunday, November 16, 2003


magic, with a
splash of mystery
and a pinch of not-evil, but
cunning perhaps, a slight malevolent
ancient wisdom hidden behind her eyes
grace in her fingers
moonstone and opal around her neck
wind at her feet and
whispers in her hair,
secrets in her shadow

witch fairy sorceress

Mina at 2:05 PM


you being in love
will tell who softly asks in love,

am i separated from your body smile brain hands merely
to become the jumping puppets of a dream? oh i mean:
entirely having in my careful how
careful arms created this at length
inexcusable, this inexplicable pleasure-you go from several
persons: believe me that strangers arrive
when i have kissed you into a memory
slowly, oh seriously
-that since and if you disappear

ask "life, the question how do i drink dream smile

and how do i prefer this face to another and
why do i weep eat sleep-what does the whole intend"
they wonder. oh and they cry "to be, being, that i am alive
this absurd fraction in its lowest terms
with everything cancelled
but shadows
-what does it all come down to? love? Love
if you like and i like,for the reason that i
hate people and lean out of this window is love,love
and the reason that i laugh and breathe is oh love and the reason
that i do not fall into this street is love."

e e cummings

Mina at 2:03 PM


Friday, November 14, 2003

we’ll watch the heavens heaven
ill be with [you] tonight
will it be enough
will it be alright

[ive got stars in mah pockets]
[comets imaging souls]
[fireflies for beauty marks]

[think you could find your way]

[think [we] could tonight]

Mahayana – ‘fireflies as beauty marks’

Mina at 9:15 AM


Tuesday, November 11, 2003

where have you been

outside, dancing with the fairies
delighting in
my moonshine skin
and starlit eyes,
my hair as dark as shadow.
i was
gathering the mystery of
the night's breath unto
myself, i was
catching the dew in my
i was singing
songs of silver light
and firefly glimmer i was
magic, for one night.

Mina at 8:38 PM


my thoughts have wandered
out the window
into the clouds
where my heart, my soul
are having tea
with aspirations of
what could be...
and dreams i've had
are drifting, winking,
whistling by.

kendall thorman
lifted from 'jane's world'

Mina at 8:30 AM


Wednesday, November 05, 2003

procrastination in its most beautiful form: pabulum from maya angelou's kitchen :)

Mina at 11:28 AM


Phenomenal Woman Maya Angelou

Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.
I'm not cute or built to suit a fashion model's size
But when I start to tell them,
They think I'm telling lies.
I say,
It's in the reach of my arms
The span of my hips,
The stride of my step,
The curl of my lips.
I'm a woman
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please,
And to a man,
The fellows stand or
Fall down on their knees.
Then they swarm around me,
A hive of honey bees.
I say,
It's the fire in my eyes,
And the flash of my teeth,
The swing in my waist,
And the joy in my feet.
I'm a woman
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

Men themselves have wondered
What they see in me.
They try so much
But they can't touch
My inner mystery.
When I try to show them
They say they still can't see.
I say,
It's in the arch of my back,
The sun of my smile,
The ride of my breasts,
The grace of my style.
I'm a woman
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

Now you understand
Just why my head's not bowed.
I don't shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud.
When you see me passing
It ought to make you proud.
I say,
It's in the click of my heels,
The bend of my hair,
the palm of my hand,
The need of my care,
'Cause I'm a woman
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

Mina at 11:26 AM


A Conceit Maya Angelou

Give me your hand
Make room for me
to lead and follow
beyond this rage of poetry.

Let others have
the privacy of
touching words
and love of loss
of love.

For me
Give me your hand.

Mina at 11:25 AM


Woman Work Maya Angelou

I've got the children to tend
The clothes to mend
The floor to mop
The food to shop
Then the chicken to fry
The baby to dry
I got company to feed
The garden to weed
I've got the shirts to press
The tots to dress
The cane to be cut
I gotta clean up this hut
Then see about the sick
And the cotton to pick.

Shine on me, sunshine
Rain on me, rain
Fall softly, dewdrops
And cool my brow again.

Storm, blow me from here
With your fiercest wind
Let me float across the sky
Till I can rest again.

Fall gently, snowflakes
Cover me with white
Cold icy kisses and
Let me rest tonight.

Sun, rain, curving sky
Mountain, ocean, leaf and stone
Star shine, moon glow
You're all that I can call my own.

Mina at 11:25 AM