The Vanishing Act, Magician

(In memory of the magician Uday Shankar Saha)

The white mice from his handkerchief
shivers with the freedom, as if
they remember being nonexistent.

The flash, smoke and mirrors,
sorcerer obliterated,
the stage waits for the trick,
and we think we know the punchlines
beforehand. One little father
holds the hand of his big son,
ready to leave the proceedings.

The son looks at one mice near his feet.
The faint noise is a sight now. A sleight of fate,
a magic rolls on, the magician, gone, exists
as the stage, audience waiting and leaving,
boxes and handkerchiefs, saw and mice.

Mourning For a Running Mate

(In memory of Revati Gore )

The other day
song birds flew
free above the cityscape,

and we recall that
more than anything they
ever sang; oh yes,

we recall you, my friend,
a fellow runner preparing
for the marathon in the weekend.

Sweating smiles
on the jokes
never cracked. The best of the laughs.

We cannot remember
how you withered;
no way, you quit a run

run for no medal,
that flight of the birds
above the city cage.

-All by Annest Gwilym from her collection “What The Owl Taught Me”.

There’s No Such Thing as a Wazzock

There’s no such thing as a Wazzock Mum said
As she turned the light off and tucked me in bed
Those shadows that shake must be all in my head
There’s no such thing as a Wazzock

There’s no such thing as a Wazzock you see
The creature that loves to eat children for tea
Though in the dark four eyes are following me
There’s no such thing as a Wazzock

There’s no such thing as a Wazzock it’s true
That’s why you’ll not find them in cages in zoos
It’s rumoured they’re furry and indigo blue
There’s no such thing as a Wazzock

There’s no such thing as a Wazzock I know
As tall as a tree from its hat to its toe
With horns of a rhino and claws of a crow
There’s no such thing as a Wazzock

There’s no such thing as a Wazzock it seems
So I can sleep safely and have pleasant dreams
Why would I be woken by squawking and screams?
When there’s no such thing as a Wazzock

-Neal Zetter (from his collection “Porcupine“)

The Beast

Waiting,
watchful
in it’s lair
teeth glinting
in the darkness,
the rhythm of its breathing
broken by the raucous
laughter of children outside.

We need only to glance at it

but when we try to scrub
its image
from memory,
only then do we learn
what it is to escape.

-Roshni Beeharry (she says “inspired in part by an image of the minotaur but in my head it represents a more modern day “monster”, predatorial adults when I look at what I actually wrote and edited since…so perhaps…not fantastical beast but inspired by one and imaginary..)

The Loogaroo

By stealth of night,
she knocks on doors
in her guise of old woman
in search of blood

She stops to count the grains
of rice
left outside by the wary,
those warned of her tricks
by anxious grandmothers.

Her skin is spangled
from the Devil Tree;
an empty husk
gourd-like
she steals blood
for the Devil,
in exchange for
magical powers.

Sunrise chases her away,
but deals with the Devil
still need to be paid.

-Roshni Beeharry (She says of it: “inspired by a the Carribean folklore story of the soucouyant , “a shape shifting” vampire like creature who masquerades as an old woman by day…stories like these travelled to French colonies like Mauritius, where my parents are from, so I recall my Mum telling us about the Loogaroo, the other name for this creature I discovered when I looked into it recently!)