I want to be impressive
and say I met a mountain once,
or a pyramid, or the desert -
but the truth is the sea scares me
and the only landscape I know
lies beneath me;
my bed. My panicked heart.
I iron over my panicked heart,
flat as sheets of hair
you can buy these days, and
attach, like a doll’s accessory
to your own bemused scalp -
whose stories have crossed rivers
you’ll never know.
Be sure there was sadness there,
you’ll never know.
No one parts with their hair
when it ripples freely; freedom
was paid in the sacrifice. Who
pockets the coins of gold
in the temples of our prayers?
The first women who wrote poetry
were nuns, some say. But the
first woman was earth, was sea,
was fire flooding air, is still
every tree. I want to be impressive?
Why? Every tiny seed is me.
The sorrow is I forget my wings
and falling, fail to rescue me.
Participating in DVerse Poets Open Link night
Who pockets those coins indeed, what cost the sacrifice? If the gods endow us with wings, who teaches us to fly? Or fall? Jack Gilbert said Icarus wasn't failing by falling, only coming to the end of his triumph. Yearning to fly are the only true wings we are given. (Then we write poems.)
ReplyDeleteI love the poignancy with which is poem is penned, Shaista! Especially moved by; "The first women who wrote poetry
ReplyDeletewere nuns, some say. But the first woman was earth, was sea, was fire flooding air, is still every tree."💜💜
Wonderful Shaista — love you friend… 🙂
ReplyDeleteThat landscape is one of my favorites. WH Auden - "A boy fell from the sky but a ship went sailing by with someplace to go..." something like that! I like this especially the first stanza.
ReplyDeleteA very moving, beautiful verse, Shaista. Life is such a bummer.
ReplyDeleteAn amazing poem, one which took my breath away with its various imagery, allusions that bounce off each other with an exquisite fever, a depression that leaves one falling like Icarus. I especially loved this stanza, Shaista:
ReplyDelete"No one parts with their hair
when it ripples freely; freedom
was paid in the sacrifice. Who
pockets the coins of gold
in the temples of our prayers?"
Pure poetry.
"Every tiny seed is me.
ReplyDeleteThe sorrow is I forget my wings"
Bless your heart Shaista,
🙏
Sarah