There is a poem

There is a poem whispering in the wind
Waiting to be heard, but if only.
If only we’d listen;
Listen to the poem written;
Waiting to be written by the bruises in the skin of the little bare-footed
Runny-nosed
Tear-stained face girl

There is a poem speaking
Screaming out
To you and I and we and us
Speaking in a voice unfamiliar to us
So we don’t hear caz we believe not in unfamiliarity
So the poem speaks and speaks and speaks
Yet never heard

There is a poem on the fingers of the little boy
Who steals to satisfy his hunger
For food
But love also
And acceptance and
Security

There is a poem on the lips of the speechless
On the eyelids of the sightless
There’s a poem traveling through the ba-ba-baas of the babies
And the ha-ha-haas of those dubbed crazy.

There is a poem lurking on the faces of the old man
Or woman
Who resides on the side- of the road; of life-
On the side of what you and I call normalcy

But there is a poem
Somewhere
Crying for the end of normalcy that neglects
Normalcy that cares
Not

There’s a poem stuttering on the tongue of the woman
Beaten, battered, bruised
In the name of love


There is a poem
Somewhere
Everywhere
There is poem
For you and I and we and us
And if not for
It’s in
Caz there’s a poem
In you and I and we and us
Waiting to be written;
Waiting to be heard.

The permanence of a smile

On what has become my journey of choice to and from ‘work’, this morning, something happened.

It was not one of those OMG, I can’t believe that just happened moments, but more of an insightful one.

I was in the taxi when a lady came in and sat at my side opposed to my left.
She said a general hi, but upon realizing it was me she kind of used her elbow to tug me in the side and all I could do was smile then said, “Hi. What’s up?” But I noticed something, well more like two things.

With kids, the tugging into the side with the elbow is more of a provocative, offensive gesture. One that would give rise to a fuss or a fight, but with adults, it’s the opposite.

It’s a sign of contact when a handshake is impossible and a hug is not permitted given the time or the limited space and the reaction, depending on the situation, is usually the reaction I gave – a smile. And this brings me to my core epiphany.

Moments after I had first smiled at her, I realized that the smile had not crept off my face like it ought to have done and this instigated another smile followed by another and then slowly they faded from my face, but I became conscious of the fact that, while the smile had left my face, I was still smiling.

For my heart had made a curve identical to the one my mouth makes when I smile and I smiled again because my heart was smiling; I realized the permanence of a smile.

It doesn’t come then disappear in a jiffy. It lingers, as if wanting to tickle you into laughter, gently forcing you into experiencing something else; something more.
It kinda runs an errand through your entire being, walking leisurely in an effort to ensure that no cell, no artery, no intestine was left untouched by its effect.

And having experienced infinite smiles prior to this moment I wonder how much permanence was in them? Was there any permanence in them at all? And if the answer to the latter question is no, does it mean that prior to this morning I’ve never smiled for there is nothing temporal about a smile, but simply a persistent permanence.

The Larger Side of Love

Larger, fluffier, fatter, plus size women always seem to be the punch lines on and off screen. Always getting the “she fat eeh” or “What a way she big?”

Judged, disrespected, embarrassed. If not with words, with stares – unwarranted stares.

But what are the odds that we have taken the time to think that the “fat” or the “fluff” doesn’t define the woman? Slim to none, right?

This might come as a shocker, but fatter women are no different from the “slim things” among us, except for a little more warmth.

They have lives, jobs, husbands, lovers. They need fulfillment; to be cared for, respected, love and be loved and yes, accepted.

They desire to be accepted by a society that always boasts that, “thin is in.” A society that screams that to be fat is a handicap and as such, she who falls in such a category needs to be remedied by either some medical surgery or an endless string of diets.

But again, have we even thought about the facts that while some may, not all fatter, fluffier women are going to end up size two’s? Not all of them are going to fit society’s ideals of what a woman’s size should be. In fact, not all of them desire to be thinner and truth be told, they need not be.

Who makes the rules? A society that breaks said rules, because of its own inability to keep them? Or does/ should each woman construct the rules, at least with regard to size, for herself?

Whichever way, no woman should have to be pressured into fitting into an extremely minuscule box that society dictates is the norm.

What if she doesn’t fit? Better yet, what if she cannot and will not be able to fit? Do we cast her into an oversized box and then view her as lesser than? Do we hand her a one way ticket to some far away place where she’s accepted without reservations? Or do we, as cliché as it sounds, accept her for who and not what she is?

After all, we couldn’t all look the same. If we did, the probability of our experiencing and appreciating variety and diversity would be rather slender, don't you think?