sing-songs

this is the song that never ends...yes it goes on and on my friends...some people started singing it, not knowing what it was, but they'll just keep on singing it forever just because this is the song that never ends...

Thursday, August 13, 2009

Disenchantments

Wounds, re-opened
Sore and bruised
Battered and beaten 
Torn down to the bone
My ego crawls on its knees
Wandering lost through the carcass of our past
The carvings of our laughter
Tapering away in this moment
Cruel, you have become
Disengaged and unattached
I fail to recognize 
As the shadows slip away.

I know I can't be with you 
I do what I have to do
and I have the sense to recognize
that I don't know how to let you go
And I need just a little more silence
And I need just a little more time

Friday, August 07, 2009

Cakes, Candles and Clutter

Twenty years ago, I wore a white fairy-princess outfit, complete with a crown, magic wand, and wings with silver stars, to my 5th birthday party. Among the guests were Pink Panther and Goofy, school friends and family, and people who I have probably not seen since. A poor soul struggling to make money and provide for his family was handed a camera and his sole job was to follow me around with it all night as I ran around in my new white shoes. He'd ask me to stop and look up at the camera and smile, while all I wanted to do is stick my tongue out and make goofy faces at him until I got bored and then be chased around some more by other 5 year olds. Between a game of passing-the-parcel and duck-duck-goose, I lost some stars off my wings and my magic wand. By the time I was asked to cut the cake, Pink Panther had wondered off, tired thanks to some of my friends yanking is bright pink tail. I became fierce when it came time to blow out the candles, elbowing away my peers who were inching towards blowing it out before me. After I cut the cake, I made my signature move which always brought out a cry of dismay from my mother every year...I licked the frosting off the knife. It was an unnecessarily lavish party, more for my parents than for me, but it was memorable. 

Other birthdays that followed never quite measured up to that one. Sure, we had my 6th birthday where I was Little Red Riding Hood and we had red chairs out in the lawn that matched and caterers and balloons, or my 7th birthday where I was Barbie, covered in pink from my feathered boa to my noisy plastic pink stilettos, bossing around my friends between a game of Simon-says and musical chairs...but nothing as grand as my 5th birthday. 

Many people I know don't like to make a fuss about their birthdays. I'm not one of them. It's bad enough I expect to be treated like royalty 364 days of the year, but on my birthday...well, let's just say that it's all about me. And me only. I wonder if there hadn't been such a fuss about my childhood birthdays, would I still grow up expecting a full day of celebration-me? 

Twenty-five years ago, I was delivered as the great monsoon of '84 hit the city of Karachi. I sit today many miles away from all that, as a storm takes over this new city of mine, thinking of balloons and bunting, rich white frosting, clapping hands and the never-ending clutter of ribbons and wrapping paper. 

Tuesday, August 04, 2009

Working

I'm watching him chew his food from across the table. Well, he's not really even chewing, just kind of stuffing-and-swallowing as fast as he can.

"You know, I love watching a man eat...you can tell alot about him by the way he treats his meals...plus, watching that jaw in action is just sooo....hot..."

I'm wondering to myself if I really sounded like that. Once upon a time. Now I can feel the skin on my forehead wrinkle as I try to mask the horrified expression on my face. I struggle, managing to get by unnoticed. I guess it gets easier with time.

I'm wishing for a moment of clarity to bust through the french doors behind me, preferably in a white shining cocktail dress, stiletto heels and a bright pink feathered boa. Why? Because I wouldn't recognize it any other way.

I didn't realize I was being watched.

I wrench and ache and moan and gasp and collapse in exhaustion. There is no release or relief, only a sense of postponement.

So I wait.