April, 2007

Sentinel Poetry (Online)


ISSN 1479-425X






Laila Haidarali




girls go crazy in their heads

rapt seekers troubling the waves

of west indian idiom     


droll in their soft leather smiles

speak nothing of love

or false resemblance

to prophets & posers

dark-haired men  wringing square

white hands  measured & dry

            plump-ning pink embryos with ease



this madness of girls

contained in the garden

of brown  round eyes.





rarely secures my memory

of you,    too kind i fear

generous in the brush i draw

filling in indigo auras where

white ice should do


heats up each time i fetch

the moment       or slip by

a soliloquy        lilac in its dirge  

purple   when i cross

the other side.  hello, goodbye

you fragmented lie.




loss is like that, you know

simple  sudden    clean

white icing licked from the spoon

a child’s mouth holding all        

that can decay


the moment dis-appreciated

later      long for more 

less than you say now:

this moment      all that you can bear


forgotten memory

re-calling the words

i love you: you are gone.




revival of santa (at 28)


nothing subsides the sorrow

massive tides

of tired angst

wash the blues of my sea

white edges capping the tempest

like childhood sleeves

my mother puffed & pulled:

innocence framed  for posterity


did not know    at 28

this day would come

that foreign histories

& fabled glories

would challenge

the centre of self


never bargained

bought whole the sale

of equal pay for equal work

believed my colour & country

complemented the mosaic

find fractured tiles of lies


my immigrant path


i am fading

in the shadow of my twenties

& the thirties

a trying decade

hover homelessly

awaiting new prey


prolonged adolescence complete

in debt  in doubt            in defeat

i am 28.



love poem


on soggy saturdays

when nothing relieves

the nite’s past trespass

& wet silent corners

rub & cut the quiet despairing tongue

i am still


still in the moment of this

when you realize

that you do not love

me enough to love

the me i am  i who can

be no different


dumbstruck too in the silence

of this saturday

rolling in like dumbo

on his way to the parade

thump-thumping his heavy hope


a well-paved way


all those years of quiet musings

& missing your nite time touch

dream only of   a loving

man who loved me:

you are angry

disappointed in a moment

that does not translate

to gondola rides & picnics

in hidden coves where lovers sip          

& slip champagne

between soft laughing tongues


you are disappointed : my beauty

no longer worthy of hard labour                       

grace-less love

burdensome      now

to soft white shoulders


deep into pockets that hide

you reach  & i refuse

not knowing how to say

hold me please 

& know this moment

of mundane


 urban living

lived courageously       

with you

is the real value of love.


<<<     >>> 



Laila Haidarali