Sunday 31 May 2015

PALLIATIVE POEMS: WILLIAMSJI TRANSLATES

NEVER SAY DIE

Poetess Shaiqua Murshed

I have often been asked, ‘What is palliative care?’ To put it simply, it is an approach by a multidisciplinary team of healthcare professionals to keep a person comfortable during illness by addressing the many problems that arise. This, perhaps, does not sound as simple as it is supposed to, however, it means that the physician, nurse, social worker, chaplain, recreation therapist, rehabilitation therapist, dietitian, and psychologist that are a part of the palliative care team address issues of physical and mental health, social, emotional and psychological well being of the person concerned.
Palliative care takes a twist when the patient faces death in a period of six months when it merges into hospice care; the medical approach is similar, terms a trifle different, the goals remain the same, though time is of the essence.
Little is more devastating for a patient and his loved one than having to hear, “There is nothing more we can do.” To the contrary, there is a lot we can do for someone terminally ill. We can alleviate his suffering, help him live with dignity, and improve the quality of his life.
I often ask myself, ‘What is life?’ Is it the scenes we have acted, the mirrors we stared at, images that were sharply etched and real, shadows that were distorted and flimsy, our desires, our aspirations, our joys, our sadness, our pain, our triumphs, the tears, the smiles, the bouquet of flowers, the thorns in them…. they were life, they are life. They are our life.
We climb mountains, we struggle across boulders, fall on the dirt track, pick ourselves up, search for a plateau to rest our backpack on, sing with the wind, trip over a pebble, but we keep walking. At times the journey becomes too destitute, too lonely, and too wretched to walk alone. Resources are scarce, friends non-existent, and we are scared. The steak knife has a sharp blade, the veins are willing. It takes a lot of courage to answer the call.
Life is irreplaceable. There is always someone willing to listen. Just ask.

So, what is life? Just the faintest of breaths, thinner than a flame in the breeze, a whiff, a thready puff, a mist that makes a man move, which in a trice can evaporate, rendering him a cold mass of desires, joy, pain, aspirations and triumphs? As simple as that?
It is said in the Yajur Veda, ‘The moment this fire extinguishes, the soul departs’. Where did life go? Do we understand life now? No, we will never understand life, nor death. Both are enigmas which will always baffle mere mortals.
We are too insignificant to give life, yet we do, we give birth, that is giving life, but the source of life is another enigma. To those who believe, the source may be called god, or a force, or a being, or for those who are spiritual and do not practice an organised religion, it may be a concept. Whichever way we look at matters, life is too precious; we have the spirit in us to live our lives with dignity, with quality, and with self respect. Storms will swarm over us, flowers will grow under our feet, the rainbow will melt into our days, but we will strive ever onward.
And, as someone said, ‘Keep walking, but stop to smell the flowers”.

PALLIATIVE POEMS: WILLIAMSJI TRANSLATES

DREAMING BIG APPLE

 

Poetess Shaiqua Murshed

What I would give to go back to New York, at least for a short visit. The city where I lived. The city to which I owe so much. The city that made me. The city that taught me palliative care, the city that polished my art, my poems, my fashion, my culinary pursuits......I could go on and on.
To wander through midtown Manhattan in my boots, the envy of so many in the NY medical facility; the pecan bars, the sports bars, guacamole and nachos, Carnegie Deli, the Metropolitan Opera, the Met museum, Chinatown, SOHO, Little Italy, the gelatos, the rice noodles, Kalustyan's, Hell's Kitchen, Harlem, red velvet cake, mac 'n cheese, farmer's market, Union Square, 98th street crosstown.....I could go on and on. I miss you guys like anything.
"If wishes were horses, beggars would ride", and I am a good rider.....so New York city stay on the saddle, I will get there sooner than later. My supreme wish.......
Till such time I am transporting my soul to 50th street and Fifth Avenue and doing what New Yorkers do best: walk. You're welcome to join me on my surreal, virtual stroll.
And, New York, did I ever tell you 'thank you'.......from the bottom of my very real heart.

PALLIATIVE POEMS: WILLIAMSJI TRANSLATES

DECOLLETAGE

 

Poetess Shaiqua Murshed

The moon cleaved in half
The pocks on its lighter face
Its thoughts in shadow

PALLIATIVE POEMS: WILLIAMSJI TRANSLATES

FIREFLIES IN THE DARK

 

Poetess Shaiqua Murshed

To me, the accompanying image taken from lovequotesideas.com, is a symbol of purity in love; it goes beyond being beautiful.
Two bare bodies consummating each other with a love that Edgar Allen Poe says '.....was more than love.'
My poem is dedicated to all those who believe, feel and experience this love in its purest, unblemished and simple form.
                                        ---------------------------------------------
We set alight the fire that seared our bodies
Turning to ash the gasps of breath that surged through our lips
Smouldering embers of desire like fireflies in the dark
Blood-curdling chill igniting the sprays of dew in which we bathed
Love was not sweet
It was not bitter
It was a potion
Of hunger and longing
Of bittersweet pain
Filling orange blossoms with tears
Speckles of the sea flowing in our hearts
Consummation was not a single word
Lost in the yawning night
Love was more than two bodies in a puzzle moulding each other
We found ourselves in the echo that spun dizzily around us
Drawing us to a zenith where love bore another name
To a world where I left myself behind with you
To a time where I found your heart in mine
In an aura where the purity of love gave birth to innocence

PALLIATIVE POEMS: WILLIAMSJI TRANSLATES

SILHOUETTE 

 

Poetess Shaiqua Murshed

The sun burst into the night
The darkness lit the day
The dawn bore the two faces of man


PALLIATIVE POEMS: WILLIAMSJI TRANSLATES

SIN

 

Poetess Shaiqua Murshed

I said
I forgive you
I did what
I rarely do
I lied
If you knew
Would you
Forgive me?

PALLIATIVE POEMS: WILLIAMSJI TRANSLATES

SYMBOLICALLY

 

Poetess Shaiqua Murshed

The image was sent to me. It is not my creation, I do not know who the creator is. It is a beautiful piece of work that infuses the mind with paroxysms of thought and delight.
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Lost in the wilderness
Of reality
A footfall in the mystery
Of life
A reflection
Worth a thousand words
In a mirage
Ruled by myth
He stands
At the edge
Of gilded lilies
Searching
For an answer
In the day
That will dawn
Tomorrow
As mystical
As his being
As real
As a dew of blood
That floats atop
A ripple of water
Don’t try to understand him
He doesn’t understand himself