grifting the god delivered
even
though
he was not blue-eyed or pale blonde
his
skin an unremarkable olive
(but more about that later)
his
eyes his hair a dark auburn
he performed no
miracles
conjured no parables needing no sages to weave
scholars
to rethread
parted no seas turned
wine to water
spoke reluctantly a thick accent
misconstrued
speech impediment
while bees nested in his manbun
yet it would later be claimed
once a tree spontaneously caught fire in his
presence
twice
he summoned dead pets to bark
a buried parakeet squawked when disinterred
often someone overheard him mumble
all mankind is a linked forest
stars distant doves
fish sleep in shoals
favored by moonlight
clouds only dream
far from prying eyes
and thus he whiled away his
afternoons of no consequence
skimming underwater dizzying up seasons
teaching spiders to weave across
the mouth of a refuge cave
sheltering a desert refugee
when it was discovered he had misplaced his
sandals
it took a whole village to skin
yet who knew then
what we know now
the god delivered had been grifted once again
a truncated shelf-life
and how towards the end folks would begin hoarding
crumbs from his table
leaning into his lambent shadow
his
implied halo
so that when his measured footfall faltered
the questions lingered how we how do we
stitch this spilled ink
this soil-soaked melanin
return of the carpenter
seeing
his
task left unfinished
he will surely
choose to return
a
carpenter
who will eventually gather
his pupils
around
a large humble nicked table
always
launching his first day of instruction
here
breathe feel smell
touch consider
run your fingertips
here
these
perfectly sunk joists
these
folded symmetries
consider their
finish
how
subtle their textured veneer
how
wholesome the run of grain
the tooth against your thumb
then he will ask you
to contemplate
how
perfect the handiwork
and
how complete your appreciation of it
and following a suitably
dramatic pause
he
will ask
why
then
does
it bother you to learn
none of this grew
out of a forest floor
this polycarbonate
thermoplastic table
was
first concocted in a test-tube
the many paths to our shared dukha
when every verse becomes heresy
a creative act of
self de s t r u c t
i o n
every sufi sadhu
sant faqir chants
i am thus
i am an-al-haqq
the universe indeed is older
than the gods
here a western hemlock leans into a window
sighing apologia
here a glass pane races a beam of sunlight
whispering e
pur si muove
here
a palimpsest
emerges from its tesseract
forbidden a read to all living
denied to the dead exhales hai ram
what
shall become of us when we encounter
the serpent’s lisp no longer a distant rumour
throbbing
in mid-intake with no hearth
warm enough
the rattling of
our bones
perhaps we are here
to
absorb with every pore all of
humanity’s dukha
and rallentando into the final deliverance
accelerando into the dreaded kaliyuga
lord krishna’s resurrection
the mehdi’s return
for
whom do we now tarry
here a while
across
the many paths of our shared dukha
our
exhalations held in thrall lest we
stumble
upon the incubus that numbed us
while a succubus led us
a
s t r a
y
origin myths of the mantis
in the hippocampic churning
origin myths of the mantis
become loose change frenetic
this haptic membrane mine
was dazzling in
afterimage divine
this lacerated snake-sloughed melanin hide
this kraken skin now withers on vine
there was a time
when wormcasts were holy as middens
tea leaves forecast laden
humble mice overflowed with rage
hedgehogs scuttled under doors
mudskippers became peacocks
then
a tree snake set out to settle aboriginal scores
while gods continued humming litanies
imbibing mann o
salwa eternal
now
beneath fizzing
tongues our electrons stream and hum
while our tungsten
energy fizzles & pops
in skittish
murmurations cloud formations
waters on the move crackling fires
how mandelbrot
fractals far splinters our grasp
this incarnation suggests other manifestations
where essence precedes existence
how gods perverse must be younger than their created universe
once kin adjacent
we must have mattered to
someone
our presence proof
enough of love beyond ours
how else to exist survive
who now
will spool out gravity
tape patch us whole
in yearning for the
antidote to the poisoned morsel
how ceremonially parses
the mantis mortal
how long will the
mantis mainline its origin myths
feast gluttonous on our ribs
scratching an itch
yesterday i saw you
pause by a lit window
to catch
your breath
i saw you pause
by the lit window
your hair aflame
smoke filling the room
seeing your face backlit
my eyes grew blurry
you said
hunh
know this
that i am still
here
scratching not
scratching
scratching an itch
right here middle
of each palm
until it
bleeds
Vancouver-based DesiPOC author Tāriq Malik has worked across poetry, fiction, non-fiction, and visual arts for the past four decades to distill immersive and original narratives. He writes intensely in response to the world in flux around him and to his place in its shadows.
Born in Pakistani Punjab, he came reluctantly late to these shores, having to first survive three wars, two migrations, and two decades of slaving in the Kuwaiti desert before landing here.
He is the author of Rainsongs of Kotli, Chanting Denied Shores, and Unmooring the Komagata Maru (Poetry section), and poetry anthologies Exit Wounds, and Blood of Stone.
His writing has appeared in The Polyglot Magazine, The Puritan, TWUC’s Write Magazine, The Aleph Review, and Verbal Art (July 2019), among others.
He has been the Writer-in-Residence at the Historic Joy Kogawa House (July 2023), and currently at the Polyglot Magazine.
