Poems by Risalat Khan

Under the hood…

– Risalat Khan

He lays a mirror in front of me
Grand, elegant, ornate!
Like the life I have led
For so long that I cannot recall, even imagine
The dingy room I spent the first two decades in
Before I embarked on a riveting odyssey
Never to look back...

"Look!” He ordains
Pointing at the mirror, there
Poised with its superiority, pompous air
"What is there to look?" I think
I own a better one, made of pure ivory
I try to defy Him, like I have done all
With all the ascendancy I can muster
But my head turns to the mirror
Without my consent, involuntarily
I cannot close my eyelids
To block out my vision
My eyes focus on the shining surface
Gleaming with all its luster
And I see myself, for the first time
Without any exoskeleton, any guise

Wow!
I ejaculate in utter surprise
This is me?
This deformed, distorted figure
Opaque with unrealized guilt
That cruel twisted curve
Spread across the countenance
Like an evil snake ready to strike
A grotesque statue
Raw and reeking of putrefying carrion
I avert my eyes and cover my nostrils
This is me?

Then I realize
I have known all along
Known and made every attempt to hide
With an impregnable carapace
Carefully fabricated to let nothing through
And then started believing in it
For so long I did not realize it was there
Moved on pretending, concealing
Without any effort or a moment's thought
I had forgotten what I looked like
Inside

***

 

 

Reflections

– Risalat Khan

Raindrops cascade down the leaf
Trails of gleaming orbs left behind
They shine under the bright sky
For just an instant though
Only to get trampled under a thousand others

Here’s one that shows a hazy face
Obscured by years of new memories
That childhood crush, plunged into oblivion
To make a living in the sub-conscious
It gets lost again; for another decade perhaps
Another one takes its place; this one’s different
The sunlight cannot penetrate its watery walls
It’s hiding something, some untold secret
Locked up for ages, begging to be let out
But no, the time has not come, yet
So it gets discarded like a bag full of garbage

The reflections of life continue incessantly
Fleeting past each other, fighting for attention
Not many are lucky, only a rare few
Winning a race at school, graduation
The first kiss, the daughter’s birth
Others are merely empty voids
Just something to fill the enormous capacity
Meaningless faces, experiences, easy to throw away

The remaining are the most troublesome
The ones you try to forget, desperately, in vain
The acts maybe born of impulse
To haunt the rest of one’s life
Through guilt, or just plain remorse
Some people can pretend nothing’s happened
And go on without another thought
Others are cursed with a conscience
They wonder, and they ponder
What could have happened, or not happened
How they could have been different
The curses, burnt into the skin, never to go away

The reflections of life continue ceaselessly
Until we, ourselves, cease to exist
Being grown from a tiny bundle of joy
To a battered and beaten soul
And when we do, yes, when we all do,
The memories vaporize into the clouds
Losing their purpose, for all eternity
Only a mere few are remembered
Or cherished for ages by loved ones
But how many of us are that lucky,
To leave such memories behind?

***

Dreams don’t wane…

– Risalat Khan

She lies there, unseen by the world
Her emaciated physique curled into a tiny shape
Her tattered clothes fraught with eclectic stains
Like any other unfortunate ragamuffin
But what is that, a curious curve on her lips?
As though she were sated with every need
A foetus in the mother's womb
Only, the womb is a forsaken cement pipe
Lying cavalierly at the side of an unknown street
Producing a coveted shade under the furious yellow orb
Protecting her as if she were its unborn child
Letting her float in her imaginations
Without a care in the world
Those imaginations that feed her
Supplanting the most delicious food she tasted
Which in her case is some stale pulau
Thrown away by the other kind
She does not mind, no
For she lives in a different world
Than all of us – her world
All that encompass her, everyday adversities
Fail to touch her somehow
Through some enigmatic magic
Her dreams remain untainted, untarnished
Intact and omnipotent, with her always
Like a devoted spouse, never weary of inspiring
She drifts in her own realm of resplendence
Drifts away from this hostile microcosm, away...

***