A Poet's Confession

By Mumtaz Khorakiwala (Aka Batool Idrish Siamwala)

To reinvent yourself

You must die continually

And like a new moon be born

You mightn't be seen when

You're the womb-like crescent

That bears life.

You mightn't be seen when

You're akin to a pistachio slice

on Indian halwa, a garnish that salivates.

That's what you're likely to be,

Initially. Hold your heart,

Some courage it requires

For budding poets

To simmer in the cauldron

Of the ever changing flavours

Of poetry. Fail not to remind yourself,

When you're at your lowest ebb:

You must be like that moon

That shapes itself every night,

The sandpaper skies might scrape,

Remove imperfections bit by bit

Yet, it must stand that test.

Unfailingly it must emerge.

Gradually, become the full moon,

That, children's eyes, delights.

Its full sphere glow

Is heightened in cyclic completion

To become a pearlish orb conjuring

Mystique and calm.

Knowing that this is not

It's destiny, it must fade

Daily, collect each scattered part

From its eclipsed apogee,

Until it reaches its perigee.

By Mumtaz Khorakiwala (Aka Batool Idrish Siamwala)