Visitation; The First Meeting by Ain Khan

Visitation

the red cardinal

in my apple blossom tree

knows not of cardinal sins—

it sings

its proud songs

vehemently

it has come

to my doorstep

every day

since my father became

clouds

today it comes

to the white ledge

of my window

cocks his head

to the side

looks at me

with inquisitive eyes

then in my father’s

baritone

the one etched into

the pre-verbal

parts of my brain

it says

I want you to know

there is nothing to cry about

there is a whole other universe

where the verses that come to you

are sprinkled like stardust

I live there now

and I see you

The First Meeting

I once met Poetry – let me explain.

I was five or six, gazing up at a starry Karachi sky

sitting cross-legged in an open-air banquet

facing a stage lined with spectacled men

with hairlines receding like low tides

& the one rare female poet – a dove

amongst the pigeons – with slender wrists

adorned with jasmine bracelets.

fennel seeds and chai in our hands

the ghazals began pouring out the poets

throbbing through the speakers

wicking the humid ocean air.

cheers spilled forward for a misra –

the first verse, like parents reassuring a wee one

followed by crackling acclaim for the second

satiating line – the call & response of a couplet.

Poetry – that illusive, bewitching woman

with kohl-lined eyes & monsoon of dark hair

stood in a corner, hummed in the echoes

of the night, looked straight at me & smiled.