It's time

Close your eyes and drift off to sleep now

Why are you so terrified

of how heavy your eyes are feeling

Why does your mouth tremble so

What are these tears running out of your eyes and across your nose

Do you think we will be separated

Do you know, somehow, the truth:

Your body will lie here, I will be cleaning in the other room,

and you will be with God.

Do not be so afraid

The angels will keep you company 

Strangers though they may be

God will not let them bother you

He will return you to me

So for a little while, sleep. 

I want to be surrounded by 

tall and silent trees

and covered by a star filled sky

just you, me and God above

Here in the sticky heat of the morning

it is the hour of prayer

I wear fresh clothes

I wash my face of my thoughts

I listen to

the quiet whirring of the fans

the birds of the city are awake

the day's first train roars past 

I think of you, and of the people I've known

of the lakes I've seen and the oceans

of the star speckled skies of my past

and the skies I'm sure are yet to come

 Dear daughter, 

I wrote this for you while you were sleeping, dreaming

I love you, when I pick you up and you stop crying,

and your heads rests once again lolling, eyes closed,

and I am poised for your cry,

but it doesn't come, not yet at least, and wow, the peace.

The kindness in my heart, that wasn't there while you were awake

it grows and I think, I want to do this for you,

I want to write for you. 

When you are awake and I try to type,

with your noises and your hands whacking away at me,

I feel so angry, so resentful, and not a bit loving,

quite the opposite in fact, and now, how desperate you were 

for a moment, afraid of the crow cawing close, though far away from our window,

you came to me arms raised and eyes closed and I felt 

infinitely protective, I felt okay,

I didn't at all hesitate. 

Ah but let me think, surely, there must be some things about you

that I like. For example, when you pretend play, when you play by yourself,

when you give your teddy bears one domino each, making sure once,

and then twice, that they all have one, when you roll around on your back,

with your belly full, doing little things, like trying to touch the plate with your feet,

knowing it makes me angry, how you smile when you do it,

and you see that I see, and I smile when I see your smile because 

this irritation, floating so close to the surface, is not a reward for your misbehavior.

And here I thought I was a bad mom, turns out 

you're a little bit bad yourself. 

 At night then, look me in my eyes

hold my face between your two hands

and tell me you love me, like you mean it

like its the only true truth.

I want to tell you my little secrets

the stories of my youth 

and my hopes for the future.

I want to share with you the tiny things

before they fizzle out in the glare

of sounds.

Night Night Baby

Come to me quietly 

gently, like the night

sudden dusk falling like snow

cool night air

and the windows of light

in the dark

Come to me then when

we are no longer hungry, nor thirsty

when we've done all our chores

and the toys are all played with

lying around the house

the books are left open 

on the pages we like

Come then and lie down

with your head here and your eyes closed

soft curls nestle in my neck

I will hold you until 

you fall asleep, I will hold you

until we both fall asleep. 

Can you hear me

through the noise

can you see me 

through the smog

can you feel me

through the mundane blank walls

the rooms as empty as empty houses

the lines sharp and ugly

cobwebbed

the insects that we've gotten used to 

the heat that seeps into skin

and sweats and sweats

I am sticky and icky with sweat 

the wind then, in the afternoon, is welcome

a welcome relief

it blows us away for a while

we are in heaven

the ocean outside our window

boats bobbing on the water

and the breeze and the quiet 

no people here in heaven

just my daughter and I

each on our own device

left to our own devices

time stops at 5pm 

when the wind blows in from the door

the curtain sways in the breeze

the cool air dries our sweat as it breaks

and I am lost in stories that are not my own

In my own story, there is nothing happening

isn't that a shame, it feels like it

as if at each moment I cannot bear to sit still

I cannot tolerate the existence of stillness

or comfort or time-pass, whatever you call it

and when my husband finally comes home in the evening

isn't it strange, the energy he brings

it is like I re-enter this world then,

as Wife. 

I listen and I complain

I make excuses and I boast of what I did

I ask to be loved

But his eyes are all for our daughter 

who has been in this world all along after all

she never left the bugs and the sweat 

she is overjoyed at her fathers face

squealing with delight

and they are a pair, I watch from the side

they are up to mischief all of their own

a pantomime I wouldn't tolerate even if I was a part of it

it's lovely. Take her, I say

take her. and when I am alone for a while in this house, I enter this world

neither wife nor mother

I clean up myself and the floors and the dishes and the bed

I do all this and I breathe deep breaths, wanting to finish the work

and not wanting the work to finish

I take deep breaths because I am about to cry

drowning in an insubstantial feeling

is it longing? I don't know. I cannot bear it 

I cannot stand another moment

is no one there?

can no one hear me

A regular Wednesday

It rains suddenly. The wind brings in the clouds; thousands of small drops fall so quietly, evenly, nicely, I have to watch. There is a slight, cool breeze. The worst of the monsoon is gone, I think. I'm sure not. It's my first monsoon season. 

The three days of rain, and the roads flooding, and people's cars shutting down was all new. Now I understand why they use manual cars here, not automatic. The rain. Months of nothing and then it rains, relentlessly, with so much perserverence. It's water that will be taken away again, at some time. It collects in puddles and makes our clothes dirty. It seeps into our shoes and worse, our socks. 

I don't know what adventure I was expecting, but I was expecting adventure. Not simple plain, rain and the occasional flooding (witnessed on the news, not first hand). There is no fun in that. It's just wind and rain. Soft and cool. Both clean and dirty. 

I have a new umbrella I've never used, opened only once when Fizzah had an accident on it and I had to wash it. Should I go out? Should I go out to use the umbrella? It seems foolish. It's just rain. Lots of it, sometimes, sure, but it's just water.