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@sadafternoons

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Reciprocity
Enroute to Shenandoah Valley, VA, on the 2nd of November 2024
*
We all drive far
On beautiful roads
Enroute to beautiful valleys
Hoping to trace
With our hungry eyes
The picture perfect blue skies
And the very warm and exotic palette
Of a winter’s Fall
Along the Eastern coast.
*
Although, I know,
When it comes to me
You hope
No one sees
All the exotic colors of my Fall
Or experiences the embarrassment
You felt
Seeing how badly it bruised me
All red, orange, yellow, crimson
*
I am quite certain
Reciprocity demands
That I mirror
And return
To their hungry eyes
To the dazzling display of their vulnerability
An equally warm and exotic palette
Crimson and all
Without embarrassment
*
After all
This beautiful road, this valley
And these blue skies
Had all been waiting
With hungry eyes
To trace
My picture perfect Fall
Along this Eastern coast
This winter.
*
#On sadafternoons
13.11.2024
Black in the summer, Sydney, Australia Although, the bird of paradise flowers have been a part of my backyard for a number of years now, it

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And so I did
Here is a reel that inspired this poem:
*
Closed fists
Do not feed mouths
Hungry for food
Experience
And more
*
I must learn
to open
my hands
And receive
the abundance
That is waiting for me
To claim it
*
I must trust
Him
Who has taught me
To eat out of my own hands
To build
The neurons
That makes my brain
Develop
And discover
My own path
*
And as I do
I see
behind me
So many hands
Gathered around closed doors
Of time
And pain
And compromise
Forced into fists
Forever locked
Into contracts of compliance
*
And I see that
And I know
That is an option that many
Have been forced to take
And that I tried myself
for years
Hoping to appease the few
who don’t want me
to open my hands
And explore the taste of food
On my sticky fingers
Or my messy mouth
*
But my hands,
Are tired contortionists
Locked into position
For the pleasure and convenience of those
Who like to watch the show
But have stopped caring
About the pain
That it takes
To comply
*
I am going to
Open them
In prayer
For how else
Am I going to be able to
Write
My way out
Of this story of closed fists
And open myself to the abundance
That is waiting for me
And my brain
To develop and discover
And bring into reality
A more empowering story
Of the power of hands
For me
And my daughter.
*
4th September 2024
Closure
*
The weight of it all
Has dropped to the floor
Like gravity
*
And although
the heart feels
sore
*
I feel
light
as a feather
*
That has let go
of the need
To hold on
*
And is ready
To drift
With the wind of change
*
That has taken
A long time
Coming
*
And I breathe for 4
And hold for 4
And exhale for 8
*
And I feel a peace
Where there was
grief
*
And joy
And hope
Where there was fear.
*
And I know
What it feels like to have
Closure
*
12.08.2024
Chuck a youi
*
In Australian slang, chucking a youi is taking a u turn. And so I did, for my husband of 29 years.
*
The decision to stop
And pause time
And rip apart
All the calendars and routines
It has promised to lock one into
Is always there
*
The decision to reach out
And return
To the one
Who can fill
The gaping hole in the heart
Always stays close
Hovering around
The many cups of Skim Lattes
And sweet treats
That one devours
Oh so sweetly
In the hope that they will be enough.
*
And after sipping slowly
The creamy curves
Off so many love hearts
And too many cups of coffee
I know
That no perfectly brewed cup
Not the one in that French patisserie
In Queenstown
Nor at Frankie & Co’s cafe
In Kellyville
Nor at the multiple cafes
Restaurants and airports
In multiple cities around the world
Will be able to fill my cup
Without you.
*
And so I take the plunge
And make the decision
And instead of running away from you
I chuck a youi
And run to you
*
And even though
Your arms are full
And I’ll have to squeeze in
To share you
And make room for myself
The hole in my heart
Is full
And the creamy curves on top of my latte
Have never tasted better.
*
7.05.2024
I am not here
*
I have always written I am here. Those of you who have joined me on Zoom know these three words. But from now onwards I am happy to say otherwise. Listening to @davidshigham, Inspired me to see beyond the blue.
*
I see it
My heart pure
As a sheet of rain on a tile
Reflecting the blue
Of a dimension
That doesn’t exist
And I step out of it
And know
I am
Always was
Always will be
Nothing.
*
30.3.2024
The wooden heart
*
Light has surprised me with its many manifestations in many experiences that I have written about in my poems. And here is another one that struck a chord.
*
The slabs of wooden tiles
On the floor of my balcony
Are thick
Like my heart
Opaque
And do not have the capacity to reflect
A higher reality
And
Transcend
The inherent limitations
Of their physical and chemical structure
Within which they are defined
Solidly
Since
What seems to me
To be
Forever.
*
However
In the early morning hours
After a night of showers
I see through
A tile or two
And look again
At the sheet of rain
That transforms its opacity
And increases its capacity
To become
Translucent
Like a mirror
A glimmer
Of Light
And reflect the width and breadth and height
Of the multiple dimensions that come with it.
*
And all I can do
Is pray to the One
Who can transform the view
Without touching the physical and chemical structures
Of a wooden tile
To transform me too.
And rid me of the ignorance
And the arrogance
That cloud my mirror
And do not allow it to glimmer
To be translucent enough
To hold the Light
And reflect the width and breadth and height
Of the multiple dimensions of Nothing
That are waiting for me to find them
Since forever.
*
24.03.2024

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I look at the old couple sitting next to me, on a Saturday morning, in the café, enjoying the sounds and smells of a Saturday morning. One o
One dollar at a time.
*
I stand before the Cadbury’s Picnic Bar
And hesitate
It’s one dollar only
My favourite
With a perfect blend of all that I like
A bit of crunch
And a lot of that gooey sticky sweetness
Of honey and chocolate
That melts oh so perfectly in the mouth.
*
But today
I hesitate
Cadbury’s put all its products
On half price in Coles
Desperate for sales to go up
Is it for families who wish to get the best bargains
For their children
For those little hands that wish to save for their trick or treating
On Halloween?
*
And as I think of little hands
My heart sinks
For I know
That somewhere
In another part of an occupied land
Someone has no hesitation
In reducing little hands to
A bit of crunch
And a lot of that gooey sticky blood
The kind that hardens like chocolate
*
And I make a choice
And do not buy it
I do not wish to add
One dollar
To the millions
Being spent
To fill the pool of blood
With little hands
Being tricked this Halloween
Through the sale of each half priced Cadbury’s Picnic bar.
*
21.10.2023
#StopPalestinianGenocide
One last time
*
I watch
As you try this option
The one in which you
Live and work in Australia
For perhaps a year
Preferably less
Just enough to tick the box
Of family affairs
One last time
*
And in this while
You hope to oversee
Your children’s transitions
Out of the house
Into their worlds
As they all eagerly prepare
To leave the nest
That you built for them
One last time
*
And as they prepare to leave
So do you
Hoping in your heart
It doesn’t take too long
Before you can finally unite
With the one
Who is waiting for you
On the other side
One last time.
*
And I see it
All
And I know
I must be here
Not to alter this reality
But to live it
And watch it
Play itself out
One departure at a time
*
And even though
No one has said a word
I can see
The quiet impatience
With which
Everyone awaits
The moment
That will set them free
One last time.
*
7.10.2023

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The Present
This photo was taken enroute to the Tesselaar Tulip festival, near Melbourne, in the car with my dear friend, Rabia, and reminded me of a poem I wrote in 2017, published in my book in 2021, and revisited today in 2023. And as I did, I stumbled upon this present.
The Present
*
What we write
And leave like pressed flowers
In the books we put together
Brings us back
To the truths
That we had the fortune of
Stumbling upon
Ever so briefly
Once upon a time.
*
And when we do
We see them
Reflected clearly
In the mirrors of the past
As a present
We left for ourselves
To open
When we most need it
In the future.
*
1.10.2023
The light from the window reminded me of this poem, I wrote.
Here it is:
Khan, 2021, ‘The Prism’. On sadafternoons: A pool of orange and other poems, Singapore: Partridge. Pg 40-41.
The Prism
*
And there are times when I think
I am alone
And there’s no one beside me
When I hear
The whole universe whisper
I am here
*
The laws of the universe
Hold me together
And with each breath
I take in
The effort of a million trees
Standing tall
Since forever to sustain me.
*
And I bask
In a sun’s light
That travels
Through eons of empty space
Dodging a host of material obstructions
In its determination
To reach me
*
And I see it all
And I empty my heart and mind of the ingratitude
That prevents me from acknowledging the love
And let it pass through me
Like a prism
Knowing it is bound to light me up
In all the bright places.
*
1.10.2023
Meat on a stick
*
Reality
Is a sharp knife
That carves its way
Through the layers
*
Till it has quartered, diced and prepared
Everything
That has been sacrificed
For human consumption
*
And I stand there and watch
As you take your time
Deciding
Which would be the most succulent
*
And I see you
Struggle
With the weight of the decision
That you cannot take
*
And I know
I am no longer interested
In waiting for you to choose me
Like the meat on a stick
*
That has
Surrendered
To the reality of its
Consumption
*
And is waiting for you
To assign it a spot
In the feast you have prepared
To grace your table.
*
16.09.2023