Showing posts from August, 2008
MagicOnce in a while you come across writing that touches your soul. It’s rare and precious and so cries to be shared. So here I am, sharing it with the one and half people who read this space.Shailja Patel is a Kenyan poet (a performance poet, her bio informs us) I stumbled upon in one of my frequent blog-hopping jaunts. Her one-woman performance of ‘Migritude’ in the US has got some rave reviews. 'Schilling Love', her ode to her parents in a humbling telling of an immigrant experience is honest and searingly intense.They never said / they loved us
Those words were not / in any language / spoken by my parents
I love you honey was the dribbled caramel / of Hollywood movies / Dallas / Dynasty / where hot water gushed / at the touch of gleaming taps / electricity surged / 24 hours a day / through skyscrapers banquets obscene as the Pentagon / were mere backdrops / where emotions had no consequences words / cost nothing meant nothing would never / have to be redeemed
My parents / di…
Shorts II


The gritty wet city was rich with a million stories. Clandestine love under the bright blue umbrella; the giggling schoolgirls postponing the inevitable homework in front of shop windows; the drunk outside the seedy country liquor bar wasting a perfectly good life; harried working women with plastic bags hurrying home to be superwomen; the earnest man with an umbrella getting wet in the rain trying to keep his indifferent girlfriend dry. The gleam of the street lights on the puddles on the roads had an outlandish beauty. Even the lines of traffic had a kind of symmetry to them. The poetry in the city night was there for all those capable of seeing. It broke her heart that he was not one of them.