BY FATIMA IJAZ
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TWO POEMS BY TAHA KEHAR
Johnny Walker
How did a teetotalling bus conductor
become the namesake
of a scotch-whiskey brand?
Badruddin Jamaluddin Kazi,
the matinee drunkard,
drew on his painful past
to wrap a gift for the future.
His ad-libbed routines
weren't just comforting sighs
adjusted as fillers between scenes.
Comedy, then, was a character
no less than a lead actor,
worthy of the same reverence.
Lip-synching to Rafi Sahab's lyrics
as the reassuring malishwala who bawled his wares
on black-and-white streets
or the wayfarer in search of Bombay's heart,
he knew his stature in film
until
comedy became an unclean prop.
Once the comedian became an object of ridicule,
the disillusioned character
morphed into a whiskey-shot memory:
Johnny Walker.
Laughter Therapy
Every evening,
laughter in the neighbourhood park
forms a raucous hum
that spreads through neatly trimmed lawns
and jogging tracks.
Aging banyan trees
observe as octogenarians with walking sticks
purge themselves of crutches and old-age trophies
and release stifled grins
from the prison of silence.
An old man's scalp glistens against the sun.
His laughter is a palliative,
an old remedy for childhood fears
that resurfaces as a twilight cure.
Giggles escape like mynahs in flight
Therapy, for some; for others, an assault on the ear.
But somewhere in the crowd
a grey-haired woman
grips her walker with frail hands,
fish scales on skin, a scowl that won't vanish.
Another woman's laughter merges with her howling cries
when she recalls the pain of outliving
a loved one, long gone.
RAIN IN A FOREIGN LANGUAGE
by Fatima Ijaz
F***.
What?
There’s a rabbit on your car.
What’s it doing there?
Giving you directions, Alice.
Then?
Don’t you want to know?
Not really.
Childish.
As if you have another option.
I could swear to it.
Kaknem esmer.
Bitchy woman?
How do you know that!?
Why can’t I?
It’s Turkish!
I’m Turkish on Tuesdays.
You should be Friday trash.
Ouch. That was rough. It hurt me.
I’m glad.
Why aren’t you rich?
Never got the cash.
Obvious.
Like an after rain earth-worm?
Eh?
You know. Rain. That falls from the skies.
What’s wrong with the skies? Why do they do that?
Donno. I think………………….
I think because it rains.
obvious!
Copycat.
At least a cat.
Can I come over?
No.
Why ever not?
because you are a foreign language.
I can fix that.
How?
I can change vowels and consonant my ears.
Witchy.
At least not bitchy.
Copycat!
told you.
what?
Dare?
Dumb.
How is that dumb?
It is truth.
Where did you locate the lemon?
In the garden, hidden like a yellow star.
Is that your sports house?
No, the Jew tag.
Did you have to wear it every day?
No.
Then?
Twice.
A week? A year? A day?
Week.
I last recall you were a purple hibiscus
In which life album?
Don’t recall.
Don’t you think you should?
probably.
You’re not into probables are you?
Not really.
Fakest apology.
Meant well. With all my heart.
Yellow star?
“My heart is a yellow star
My only flaw…”
Song Artist?
Anthony Gonsalves.
Funny.
Right?
Alice?
Yes.
But you’re not Alice.
So what?
I don’t like being deceived.
But you hallucinate, then I’m always Alice
It’s complicated
Isn’t it.
Damn this beautiful morning
Is it pre-dawn desire yet?
It’s something else.
Like what?
Like rain………………………….
Rain at dawn?
Pre-dawn, actually.
You don’t say.
Are we speaking in the same language?
No.
Then how are we speaking?
I donno.
Then find out!
Why?
Because!
You don’t say.
Well because if we don’t figure this out
Yes?
We’ll never figure it out.
It will be dark.
And endless.
So explain?
It’s raining.
What’s rain to a foreigner?
A language?
The foreigner is f***ed.
Why do you say that? How rude!
Insignificant.
Maybe you think it will stop.
Won’t it?
No. I mean, yes. I mean………….
You don’t know.
Yes.
Then find out!
But what if I can’t? What if it’s impossible?
Then it will be the reign of rain.
Forever?
And ever.
THE END
Remember
by Taha Kehar
Remember
Do you remember the time
when you accidentally swallowed a fly
while we were changing trains at Lugano
to get to Geneva?
Do you remember the time
when you shrieked in fright
at the sight of lizards on skewers
along the crowded streets of Beijing?
Do you remember the time
when you plugged in your hairdryer
into the lone socket in our hotel room in Rome
and plunged the entire third floor into darkness?
Do you remember the time
you excitedly photographed the King's Cross Clock Tower
when I told you: "Look, it's Big Ben!"
Whenever I revisit these memories,
I am swept back to those days
before lockdowns and loneliness
when we roamed freely
without face masks and malady.
KARACHI
by Fatima Ijaz
I sing in the solitude of the night that roams with the free abandon of a banshee wave
Karachi, cureless, I return to you. When we look at each other, we both know, I’ve been away – in another moment you’d say: you left me, Fatima. But you don’t – you don’t say that. Instead,
you rise in the tower that reckons with many mirths and burst in on the scene of my wayward mind.
I take in a breath. Your stated jewel alarm circles my wrists: ‘prisoner, you have returned’ your wishful jugular asserts.
I gather you in my arms but you are too large for my embrace. We make an awkward kiss on a Picasso. Preserve my limb cool, Karachi – you know, I run like a wild horse in the night of eternals. Only you know that. Only you know me.
Citizenship, Chapter 19 Night Flag
From Queiha, a novelette.
by Fatima Ijaz
Night Flag, Pakistan.
Pakistan, you are scattered once again,
The half-moon is brimming to the left,
& the north-pole star has wandered extreme right.
What should I do with you my dear country-men?
She is scattered over the skies,
The bead of her jewel on throne-sky waysides…
And her bedecked heart lovingly smeared with blue-black unsheltering skies.
Pakistan, your flag is female, divine.
Notice it in the details.
You are a night nation and the city I was born in, calls my name again.
A few explanations.
-
Night-city se matlab ye hei kei Pakistan mei chand aur sitara hei, suraj aur suraj-mukhee nahin hei…so, ye raat ki nishaani hei.
-
Toh humein raat ki rani pasand ani chahiye kiyonke uskee khushbu bhee buhut sureeli lagnee chahiyei.
-
Raat ka shehr usually Karachi ko kaha jata hei..iss liyei end vich meinei jo baat mention ki hei, o aihee ki hei kei mei Punjabi Karachiite aan, so I need to be in Karachi…since that is the night that calls me.
-
Though I can move back and forth in Lahore and Karachi, as I have my entire life, because it IS my Grandparents’ city. (Both Sides)
Labor Rights
by Fatima Ijaz
All my work is a labor of love (literally) -- no recompense, nor monetary support whatsoever. However, I still feel hard work (Mehnat ka kaam) zarooree hei (is important) and God will provide to those who are scattered autumn leaves.
In God we trust...hahaha (there is laughter/
where there is love/
in the labor of it/
we'll find our way/
through the dark/
through the utterly dark/
because?
Labor (mehnat/hard work) always,
always pays off/
that's what father says
That's what I say /
And I have proof
Within/ without bhee
ajeyei ga (We'll get there someday)
after all,
Othello knew finally
The handkerchief was strawberry red
And chocolate brown (Exact)
and this knowledge (truth be told)
students will love aur mei (and I)
teacher bun jaoon gee (will become teacher after all)
the one that he'd like for me to have been
(jaisa voh chahta thaa)
Dedicated to TFH, Plumber, chef, walker, talker, professor of English: Chaucer, Latin, Shakespeare, Joyce but also town keeper, the one who recognized, the one who knew everyone, the best. The best. I'm in Terry's country again. This is auspicious. Mashallah (God bless)
Untitled
by Fatima Ijaz
paint on the lips, my darling your art kit is locked upstairs. latino sister shows the way on the darkest nights of... mahogany pink, bangled wrists.
Sketch # 1 Planet Coffee
Incarcerated wings
I drew patterns on them, to remind me,
Memento-style.
I sat awkwardly. I forgot my smile,
Somewhere here.
My eye-brow grew a natural twitch.
I blinked more than
necessary.
I went to the kitchen to erase
my memory of the silver tray. Colors
saved me. Songs.
I walked in the garden to songs.
They hurt my back; tied up, locked.
Heavy like a bohemian verse.
Steady – I finally found the way
Of how to walk.
“The feet mechanical go round”
It was a circus. I was the only
Winged fright.
Entertaining. “I’ll frighten you”
I said, as they laughed.
I wrote Romantic texts. They
Studied for ants.
I fancied a winter in Germanic
Land. It was cold, my wings
Frozen. I had to walk home.
So I walked.
