TWO POEMS
by Hibah Shabkhez
QUAVERY-MAVERY
‘Crow faces, all crow faces, remind me
Of you’, murmurs the swaying bare-branched tree.
It has sung as many knotted dirges
As it has seen springs. Its sorrow surges
With the fresh grief of the mown field, breathed in
Each time it spears the wind. Snow-shrouds follow
Only for the field. The tree must swallow
Its creakings instead, and with paper-thin
Slices, learn to dance the coconut dance -
Now the gnarled tree blesses
And curses its once-prized longevity,
Wondering: when spring gnaws away the ice
Will I stand by again as fresh buds chance
It all, on a throw of loaded dice?
​
​
UNEASY HANDS
​​
Shuffling feet and vacant eyes slide
Over everything: the branches -
Trembling, outstretched childish fingers
Reaching for that blue, blue sky; the
Dewy motia seeking to glide
Under leaves, flee the avalanches
Of admiration that lingers
And covets, and guillotines the
Uneasy heads that wear the crown
Of Grace -
There are no thorns. The leaves embrace,
But cannot defend the blossoms
Or even their buds, against foes
Unknown to all but the flower
Itself: rain, wind, thawing human.
In every short-cut taker’s face
A little life now blooms, spins, hums -
It is to work the creature goes
In a ticking clock’s fell power -
But the mask is coming undone.
Slurring it over deliberately
Turning away in unwitting mercy
From the almost-plucked motia, the cold feet
Move on -
But there is a spring in the step now -
In the step, there is a Spring.
​
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Hibah Shabkhez is a writer of the half-yo literary tradition, an erratic language-learning enthusiast, and a happily eccentric photographer from Lahore, Pakistan. Her work has previously appeared in Pleiades, Miracle Monocle, Glassworks, Windsor Review, Moria, CommuterLit, and a number of other literary magazines. Studying life, languages, and literature from a comparative perspective across linguistic and cultural boundaries holds a particular fascination for her.