PLAYING GAMES

Kaiser Haq

  
My little daughter has suddenly
taken a fancy to board games –
ludo, draughts, snakes and ladders.
And she insists we play with her.

          The rules are beyond
her comprehension though:
she just loves rattling the dice
and moving the counters
any which way –

        she’s only playing at playing.
And we play along,
charmed by the absurdity
of it all,

        and secure too
in the knowledge
that before long
she’ll have the rules
at her fingertips

        and we’ll happily
concede defeat
to her freshly acquired
expertise.

        There’s a lesson here,
for everything’s a
game, as they say –
war, love, work, politics,
what have you,

        and from playing
at playing a game
to actually playing it
one makes a full
quantum leap; it’s what
we call growing up:

        oh if only we could be
reasonably sure
all the world’s leaders
one day will
stop playing at playing
the game of democracy –
and start playing it!   

ON THE BLINK

Kaiser Haq

My wall clock has stopped
With hour hand at 8
And minute hand at 36
Or 37, depending
On where you’re looking from:
Parallax or something
I once learnt in high school science.
The second hand jerks
Between 40 and 41,
Like a discharging dick.

The batteries need changing
But I don’t change them.
My wristwatch isn’t on my wrist
But I don’t open the drawer
To look at it
Or take it out and strap it on.
I’ve no idea what time it is
And I don’t give a damn.

I don’t turn on the radio or TV –
Keeps reminding you of the time.
The newspaper, slid under the door,
Takes a catnap – I glance at it
But don’t pick it up
Or try to read the big headlines –            
Feels good not to bother.
My head’s light as a feather,
Without a care in the world –
A balloon filled with well-being.

The leaves on the trees
Play soft tambourine music –
So soft, it’s only in my fancy I hear it.
The sun yawns and swallows
A procession of candyfloss clouds.
The day vanishes behind a veil of azure.
Feels like I could stay like this forever.
Don’t know if I should put a word to it
But if you could ask Gautama
He’d perhaps tell you it’s a kind of nirvana.

Ah, nirvana, I sigh,
Settling into the peace that passeth understanding,
And catch the prick hand bobbing
And then stop.
Just like that.
At once time rushes in
Through every crack and opening
With all the hideous clamour of voices and things,
Tales of time-serving technocrats,
Anxieties over time running out,
The ‘Hidden Hunger’ of the headlines
And hosts of half-hidden desires –
The usual, nothing extraordinary –
For money, sex, power.
I take out my watch,
Start rummaging in the drawer
For a couple of double-A batteries.

(Note: ‘Hidden Hunger’: Recently, when it was alleged that rapid price rises had brought on famine in parts of Bangladesh, the government declared that that wasn’t the case, there was only some ‘hidden hunger’.)

Why do we need it?
To differentiate color
“You white”, “Me black”?

The one above’s playing a dangerous game
Of cat and mouse.
The skin game is being played
In every house and continent
When shall it end?
Only one being can say.

   II

The word “we” itself
Is not free from allegations.
“We” the good
“They” the bad
Connotative expressions
Depicting ideologies at work for decades.

Voicing frailties
Not allowed.
Helping the needy
Without the ever-present “eye”
Not allowed.

The beings below
Are playing a dangerous game
Of enacting the role of the omnipotent
Wants justified before reason
Treason justified before trial
Invasions justified in the face of greed

From black mixed with black, white can emerge
But not vice versa
And therein “lies the rub”.
  
III

The helpful man
Is a dead man
Witness the fate of the many
Who lent their brothers a hand.

To whom it may concern,
No one can save us but ourselves.
No superhero can save the day
Because in this fantastic explosion
Of innumerable and infinite galaxies
We might be all alone.
It’s not nice to hear
But just might be the truth.

   IV

In the face of reality
We shall proceed as planned
Send the messenger for eyewash
Because even if contradiction
Is at every point
It never hurts to be careful!

The martyrs with their useless sacrifices
Shall be till eternity compared to an Olympian
An irony that the shield should appear to be the spear

“How far behind are we?”
The race is on
Till death shall the finish line run?
But I’ll tell you one thing
Though their might be a lot of unseen happenings of the way
You’ll die before the ending is revealed to you
Life it seems is His greatest joke
And if you haven’t realized it yet “You’re it”.

   V

The jester can always figure out the puzzle
Put it back together so to speak
Crimson tidings brought to life
Shall not justify anything
In the end all we can ask is simply
“Who is watching the watchmen?”*
* Taken from a reading of the graphic novel “Watchmen” by Alan Moore and Dave Gibbons

Imperial Gutters

By Asif Iqbal

Separation, liberty
The words mingles everywhere
A wind of change
To splutter out colonial era
Zulu, Mau Mau, Hausa chants
falls deaf upon an Inca trail,
Up in the heights of Macchu Picchu

Gandhi calls satyagraha
India is freed.
Discreet become voices
under eerie apartheid
Biko dies writing what he liked
Mandela utters Amandla
Millions cry Ngwethu 

1971 is A hard rains’ gonna fall
Dylan, Harrison, Starr, Clapton rock n’roll
Ginsberg laments Jessore Road
Millions die, mothers cry
Bangladesh is freed.

Notes:

1. Zulu, Hausa-African tribes
2. Mau Mau-Kenyan freedom fighters against British rule
3. Macchu Picchu-ruins of  Inca civilization
4. Amandla & Ngwethu-Xhosa words signifying freedom
5. Jessore Road-A poem by Allen Ginsberg

Veranda
by Asheka Troberg

The veranda became the sanctuary since that day
Gentle breeze or sizzling, sweaty 4th July eve  
A pair holding hands saunter and sway,
touching and brushing their sides on their enchanting way
Before, below , along side walk
by the shiny green matured Cadillac
She offers a grin as they travel, they smile back
The ground is eager to feel their feet     
The round glass table holds a tea mug from yesterday
The mischievous cat looks around cautious and discreet
In gentle breeze, in star counting nights, in gusty twilights
-wind blowing Friday nights, watching the neighbor kid
-playing a chivalrous knight, touching a blanket of fog
sits curious and calm, relaxed or restless    

Their sides brushes and moves away,
Sway, sway and sway
Pavement beneath adorns in garland,
at yet another delectable placid horseplay
Maple leaves green by day, gold by nightfall,
under the Midas streetlamp
emulates, imitates, the pair’s delightful trend.

The moon is a half, devil white pupil
-touching the lucid azure New York sky
Settled on the cornea; a globular luminous cloud
Hung on the shadowy blue heaven, a portrait so sly
Today, the earth is playful,
-young, elegant, charismatic scout

Penetrating fume of BBQ, Red drink infiltrating, tingling though veins
Primrose, daffodils, dandelions, in green patchy enclose,
-quick sand, reluctant, nefarious, nebulous;
-changing states of a mind
The veranda is more than a space, declares.
Would not be insane to utter,
“This, my friend is nothing less than a shrine”.