Khalid Mukhtar

Word, like wind, cuts through you / Withers all but true you

The Golden Switch

· ·

I wrote this poem to welcome the wife of my cousin Zubair into our family. Thanks to Abi Mustafa for bringing this poem to life with a moving recitation at the wedding reception yesterday. 
There are footnotes at the end.

Best Wishes to Zubair and Rida on their wedding.

“Unmoor!” It’s time, the whistle blows,

The weather’s bright and fair,
As you begin your voyage on
The Morning Star Zubair.

That’s right, your man is Master of
This vessel wide and long,
She carries all you need within
Her golden hatches strong.

The crew is sharp, the first mate walks
The bridge with eagle eye,
While down below the engineers
Keep engines humming high;

A dozen sailors swab the decks,
The silver taffrails, shine,
While stewards fill your goblets with
Non-alcoholic wine.

Ah! How your taste buds will delight
When foods exotic play
Upon them notes so magical
From Bombay to Marseilles.

And each day as the sun so grand
Sets on the sparkling sea,
Like Jack and Rose, you and your man
Glide in serenity.

And so you sail for days and days
Without a worry till
The seas begin to sparkle less,
The food tastes blander still.

And that is when the tide does turn,
And waves frightfully vie
To splash upon the shiny decks,
While clouds assemble high.

The hull begins to shudder free,
The crew tries hard to mend
The damage, but the boatswain’s luck
Is on a downward trend.

Disease and hardship wrack the crew,
The engines fail to fire,
The first mate tries in vain to steer
Despite the ocean’s ire.

You run to stand beside your man
As he surveys the scene:
His ailing crew, his vessel strained,
And all that’s in between.

You turn to look into his eyes
That show no sign of fear,
And sense a peaceful moment when
He nods with hope sincere,

Then suddenly, he takes your hand,
And to the bridge makes haste,
To find his first mate ‘neath the wheel
Which once his hand had graced.

He presses on with you, Rida,
Still keeping by his side,
And stops before a cabinet
Of tungsten and carbide.

A golden switch sits well encased
In glass so clean and clear,
With shiny letters that proclaim
Its role in times of fear.

*******************************
Pause for effect, mood changes to mild comic irony
*******************************

“Mummy Hona” 1, you read the words
A bit questioningly;
Zubair smiles back as if to say:
“My darling, you shall see.”

With one hand holding yours, he grips
The lever with the other,
And pulls down on that golden switch
To beckon to his mother.

The vessel starts to shudder now,
Its ribs moan shallow, and
The Master and his lovely bride
Look out from where they stand.

A rumble low accompanies
The sight before your eyes,
A golden hatch slides open to
Reveal a golden prize.

“Salaam alaykum” everywhere,
“Salaam” that fills the sea;
And thus emerges from the hatch
Zubair’s good family,

His mother leads them all as they
Proclaim the greeting high,
Her hands do bear a tray of her
Best anday ki mithai 2.

And even as she draws up close
And holds you in embrace,
The family of good Zubair
Sets off to work a pace

Of restoration everywhere;
Jenan assumes command,
Her father in the engine room,
With wrench and more in hand.

Ali gets on the radio
That Tariq works with speed,
While Zohra stirs a blend of Bel-
Ladonna and seaweed

Which Nadiah dispenses to
The sailors, some of whom
She carefully helps get into
The operating room.

Where Saqib and his father work
To render every care
And get those sailors up to run
The Morning Star Zubair.

Samina Chachi oversees
The scrubbing of the decks
And brings those sailors to their knees
With her repeated checks.

Tahseen restores the cabins, makes
Them cozy, warm and trim;
Maryam, Iman and Zaynab sing
A Dawud Wharnsby hymn.

And Salim Uncle at the helm,
To get her back on course,
Amin at radar, Sulayman
On charts; oh what a force!

And all of this is possible
As Javed babysits
Noor, Ibrahim, and Mustafa
With toilet humor hits.

And then, Rida, you look around,
And all over you see
A fleet of submarines with the
Remaining family;

All standing by and waiting for
A sign they can’t ignore:
Mohajir, Chida, Mehkri,
Ghias, Papa and more.

The vessel sets to float anew,
In even better form:
A crew and craft to weather yet
Another crazy storm.

The kitchen and the galleys burst
Biryani, halwa and
A host of other dishes of
The grand Navaitha 3 brand.

*******************************
Pause for effect, return to reality
*******************************

And as niwaalas4 supersized
Of meetha5 fill your mouth,

*******************************
Pause 3 seconds
*******************************

You wake up from this dream, Rida,
A little farther south.

*******************************
Pause 3 seconds
*******************************

…In Frankfort.

*******************************
Pause for effect, concluding verses
*******************************
There’s no condition, Rida, and
There is no moment which
You need await to pull down on
That “Mummy Hona” switch.

But this is all you’ll ever need
On any given day:
Love God, and love the one He loves,
(SalAllahu ‘alayhi wa Sallam)
And you’ll be on your way.

*******************************
Pause for effect
*******************************

Welcome to the Morning Star Zubair.

*******************************
Pause for effect, read slowly.
*******************************

Welcome to… our family.

———————————————————————————–

Footnotes

1 I want my Mommy
2 A family specialty
3 The name given to our larger family
4 Mouthfuls
5 sweets

The Fewston Reservoirs

· ·

I am in beautiful Leeds visiting with my brother, and enjoying the English countryside. Today, I accompanied my brother and my lovely nieces to The Fewston Reservoirs. We each got an ice cream cone/bar and hiked through the trails. I can’t explain how beautiful this place is. I was compelled to write a little something about it all.

The swirling, moisture canopies
That speckle blue vanilla skies,
The honeysuckle-scented breeze
That, definition, well defies,

The bashful bluebells bowing low
Along the chocolate marshy sands
Where Otley and her sisters flow
To flush these lush West Yorkshire lands.

I’ll miss the Fewston Reservoirs
For more than what I’ve said above,
They soak my plains of memoirs
With drops of who and what I love.

(The ‘vanilla’ and ‘chocolate’ references were clearly a product of the quality ice cream we consumed on the hike 🙂

Maryam Says You Can Do It, Zaynab

· ·

As you lay on your belly and wonder
If you can just crawl to the end
Of the carpet so you can reach under
What covers your toy ducky friend,

Maryam says you can do it, Zaynab,
You can do it Zaynab, yes you can,
Just the way you did it the other day,
Got to finish this thing you began.

When you try hard to reach for the light switch
Standing tall on your tippy toes,
But it seems that it’s always an inch away
No matter how high your hand goes,

Maryam says you can do it, Zaynab,
You can do it Zaynab, yes you can,
Just the way you did it the other day,
Got to finish this thing you began.

As you sit back for fun with Dick and Jane,
Touch the letters with your fingertips,
Trying hard to string them up just to bring
Forth a word with your weary lips.

Maryam says you can do it, Zaynab,
You can do it Zaynab, yes you can,
Just the way you did it the other day,
Got to finish this thing you began.

When you try out your bike with no trainers,
And you zigzag so fearfully,
‘Cuz you can’t bear the thought of the pavement
Kissing you in the head or the knee.

Maryam says you can do it, Zaynab,
You can do it Zaynab, yes you can,
Just the way you did it the other day,
Got to finish this thing you began.

And Maryam, you’re right every time, now
You too may need Zaynab some day
Just to stand by your side helping you how
You help her to get on her way.

Zaynab says you can do it, Maryam,
You can do it Maryam, yes you can,
Just the way you did it the other day,

Got to finish this thing you began.

Got to finish this thing we began.

Familiar Friend

· ·

I saw a man the other day,
Somewhere in Bolingbrook,
Who curiously sent my way
A long and knowing look.

And I in turn stared back at him,
For surely I did see,
Deep in his eye, a trace of dim
Familiarity.

He looked away, a bit incensed
By my alacrity,
So I broke off my stare, but sensed
His gaze return to me.

We nursed this blend of sweet and sour
As we checked out our goods,
Before we left to make for our
Respective neighborhoods.

Of all the glimpses we did plot
So surreptitiously,
I won’t forget that one I caught
Of him catch one of me.

I strained to think where we had met;
The library? The bank?
The traffic signal pause beset
By stares that weren’t that blank?

I could have, and I should have asked,
But then it was too late
To see the face of chance unmasked
By helping hands of fate.

Or could it be that we have shared
A word that binds us both,
When in the Garden we declared
That sempiternal oath?

It is my hope that we will meet
In time or timeless end;
Until then, mine is patience sweet.
Farewell, familiar friend.

Children of the Year

· ·

How Winter loved his sister, Spring,
Though all that he did well preserve,
(Yes, each and every little thing)
She meddled in without reserve;
But then her sweet and cheery smile
Would melt him in a little while.

Ah! Lovely Spring, a tender heart,
Enlivened all with just her touch,
And wept when Winter did depart,
For he indulged her very much;
Yet how she glowed so bright with glee
When Summer came for company

Because she was her favorite one;
They treasured all the time they spent,
For all that was by Spring begun,
Did Summer sweetly complement,
Until the farewell grackle call
Would welcome in capricious Fall.

Well, Autumn was his proper name,
For Summer leaves where Autumn goes
To huff at those who shun his game,
And shower gifts on whom he chose,
Till Winter comes to calm him down,
And wait for Spring’s return to town.

I Hope You Like Flowers

· ·

I was at the Highland Park Poetry Open Mic last Friday, and got to participate in my first on-the-spot poetry challenge. The theme was Gifts. I managed the below in the eight minutes I had.

It irks me when I
Can’t figure out why
I can’t think of what sort
Of present to buy.

I know who its for,
And what makes her smile,
Yet this silly task
Is taking a while.

Oh well, I won’t sweat it,
I’ll settle for flowers;
So much for my ‘riginal
Thoughts all these hours.

And if she despises
My gift to her, I’ll
Utter these words with
A sincere smile:

And then I ran dry. I was stuck, stuck, STUCK! When Jennifer Dotson called my name, I walked up and recited it, and generated some laughter at my dangling ending. And NOW, three days later, I decided to finish with this…

“I fear to buy
What dazzles the eye
Lest it become to you
Much dearer than I;

But flowers shall wilt
Till they are a mess,
And spare you the guilt
Of loving me less.”

… just had to finish what I started.

The Ever Rising Tide

· ·

Your anger is an ocean wave
You cannot leave to rise,
For once arisen must it brave
A path to its demise:

To slowly draw into its breast
Each vessel in its wake,
Then shatter all upon its crest
Before the downward break;

Or swell in silent solitude,
Across the fickle seas
To crash upon your shores and quench
Your grove of poison trees.

So slay no spirit, spare your heart,
And know the ocean wide,
That you may breathe the winds that quell
The ever rising tide.

One Day of You

· ·

To every orphan child, with love.

Up from my mother’s arms so cold,
I looked around the room to see
The many faces looking on
My handsome Abba peacefully
Asleep during the day.

I turned to see my mother who
Stood quiet with her statue face,
I put my hands around her neck,
And held her in my baby brace;
Then in the softest tone,

Inquired: “Ammi, Abba get up?”
Her face retained its rocky state,
I slapped her cheeks with both my hands,
And made the room to resonate:
“AMMI, ABBA GET UP?”

And then her face went soft and warm,
She slowly blinked her moistened eyes,
Her lips went tight, and tears streamed;
I thought an Ammi never cries;
My Ammi never cries.

And so I kissed her face and said,
“Ammi, Abba get up” again.
But that just made her weep some more,
To sadly shake her head, and then
To sit upon the floor.

And that was when I raised my arms,
Before announcing loud and clear:
“Ammi, Abba get up, Ammi,
Abba get up TOMORROW”. Dear
Ammi wept on but smiled.
Well said, my little child.

Take heart from what was spoken,
This true reminder token
Of sweet and soothing patience,
Absolutely beautiful:
Tomorrow to be woken.

My child, you live one day of you,
So live your day – gold, green and blue;
But live it right, and live it true,
That when the sun does set on you,

As I did, you may get up too,
Get up to live the rest of you;
Unto the Ever Living Who
Does love you with a love more true

Than mine could ever be for you;
So patience for one day of you,
This day of me and you;
Tomorrow is forever.

Jameel and Jameelah

· ·

I heard this lovely story, supposedly true; beautiful regardless. I picked the names Jameel and Jameelah for ease.

No man could compare with gracious Jameel,
And there was no lady who was fairer than Jameelah;
Her beauty unmatched and manner genteel
Had earned her the admiration of the whole qabeelah.

So when he made known his noble intent,
The tribespeople feared an immediate rejection.
But when she did bashfully give her consent,
Jameel was commended by them all with great affection.

But He who draws near the ones who love true
Bestows on them roses covered in thorns,
For sweet is the end of the righteous who
Endeavor a peace that trial adorns.

With only a week until the big day,
Jameelah was injured in an accidental fire;
Her beautiful face was burned in a way,
And destined to never be an object of desire.

She sent for Jameel, and fought back her tears,
Determined to free him from a formidable kindness,
But news of Jameel came flooding her ears:
A poisonous meal had just resulted in his blindness.

But He who draws near the ones who love true
Bestows on them roses covered in thorns,
For sweet is the end of the righteous who
Endeavor a peace that trial adorns.

They met, and they wept, and patiently sat

Considering carefully the burdens that they carried.
And all of the tribe was marveling at
The beautiful way in which they happened to be married.

Contented were they in all of their strife,
They raised a sweet child who was as lovely as her mother,
While time gnawed away at their mantle of life,

A mantle they treasured and devoted to each other.

But He who draws near the ones who love true
Bestows on them roses covered in thorns,
For sweet is the end of the righteous who
Endeavor a peace that trial adorns.

Jameel could not stop the flow of his tears,
In patient submission at the grave of his Jameelah;
And after a span of sixty five years,
He thought of the times when he pretended not to see her.

The scars in her face her heart did conceal,
His love went beyond the thing that made him feign his blindness.
How pure was the love of gracious Jameel,
Surpassed only by the likes of his Jameelah’s kindness.

And He who draws near the ones who love true
Bestows on them roses covered in thorns,
For sweet is the end of the righteous who
Endeavor a peace that trial adorns.