Shape shifters

Shape shifters, snakes of light

through the iron grilled Windows

fall among the clustered desks

and draw transient patterns across the floor;

AND they;

slither around;

across the white plastered walls,

And the chalk dusted black board.

With the light worms, something  moves!

And writhing memories of  fond adolescence

Tumble into my consciousness’ grooves

And in an instant sets the clock backwards

To bygones where it had seemed sweeter

Even the tear drops most bitter!

സ്ത്രീയുടെ സ്വയം പര്യാപ്തതയും ‘ചില’ മലയാളീ സഹോദരങ്ങളും – ഒരു facebook ചരിതം

“സ്ത്രീകൾ സ്വന്തം കാലിൽ നിൽക്കണം.”

ക്ഷമിക്കണം, പറഞ്ഞതാരാനെന്നോ, പത്രം ഏതാണെന്നോ എനിക്കൊർമയില്ല. എന്തായാലും അന്നത്തെ ആ വാർത്ത പോസ്റ്റിൽ കമന്റ്സ് ഒരുപാടായിരുന്നു. അതിൽ ഒരു സഹോദരന്റെ അഭിപ്രായം, അതാണ്‌ ഈ ബ്ലോഗ്ഗിനുള്ള പ്രചോദനം. അദ്ദേഹത്തിന്റെ ഹൃദയസ്പർശിയായ വാക്കുക്കൾ ഇതാ:

“ഇതിന്റെ കുറവേയുള്ളൂ. ഇവൾക്കൊക്കെ ജോലി കിട്ടി കഴിയുമ്പോഴാണ് എന്തുമാവാം എന്നൊരു തോന്നൽ വരുന്നത്. അല്ലെങ്കിൽ അടങ്ങിയൊതുങ്ങി വീട്ടിൽ കിടന്നോളും.”

കേരളത്തിലെ വിദ്യാഭ്യാസം കൂടിപ്പോയ കുറച്ചു സഹോദരന്മാർക്ക് ആ കമെന്റങ്ങ് നന്നേ ബോധിച്ചു. ആണ്കൊയ്മയുടെ മസീഹ ലൈക്ക്കളാൽ വാഴ്തപെട്ടു. അദ്ദേഹത്തിന്റെ അഭിപ്രായത്തെ മാനിച്ചു കൊണ്ട് സഹോദരന്മാർ ഒരുപാട് കാര്യങ്ങൾ അവിടെ ചർച്ച ചെയ്യുകയുണ്ടായി – അവരുടെ ഭാര്യമാരെക്കുരിച്ചും, അവർ വിവാഹം കഴിക്കാൻ ആഗ്രഹിക്കുന്ന പെണ്‍കുട്ടികളെ കുറിച്ചുമൊക്കെ. ഇപ്പറഞ്ഞ സഹോദരന്മാരക്ക് വേണ്ടി അവർ പറഞ്ഞ കാര്യങ്ങൾ ഉള്പെടുത്തി ഞാനൊരു വിവാഹപരസ്യം തയ്യാറാക്കി. അത് താഴെ ചേർക്കുന്നു.

വിവരം സാധാരണയിലും കുറവാണെങ്കിലും വിദ്യാഭ്യാസം ആവശ്യത്തിലും കൂടുതലുണ്ട്.എന്നാൽ പ്രോഡക്ടിനു അത്ര വിദ്യാഭ്യാസം ഇല്ലെങ്കിലും കുഴപ്പമില്ല. എന്നാൽ ഒരുപാട് കുറയണ്ട. പന്ത്രണ്ടാം ക്ലാസ്സ്‌ ധാരാളം. കൂടിയാലും പ്രശ്നമില്ല. പക്ഷെ പഠിത്തം കൂടുംബോൾ ജോലി കിട്ടാനും ജോലിക്ക് പോകാനുമുള്ള സാധ്യത കൂടുതലായതിനാൽ അത്തരത്തിലുള്ള പ്രോടക്ട്സ് പ്രിഫർ ചെയ്യുന്നില്ല. വിവാഹത്തിന് ശേഷം ഭർത്താവിനെ അനുസരിക്കുകയും അഹങ്കാരം, തന്റേടം എന്നിവ പൂര്ണമായും ഉപേക്ഷിക്കുകയും വേണം. ഇപ്പറഞ്ഞ സാധനങ്ങൾ വളർത്തുന്നത് ഒരു ജോലിയുണ്ട് എന്ന തോന്നലായത് കൊണ്ട് പ്രോഡക്റ്റ് ജോലിക്ക് പോകുന്നത് നിർബന്ധമായും നിരോധിച്ചിരിക്കുന്നു. താത്പര്യമുള്ളവർ താഴെ കൊടുത്തിരിക്കുന്ന കരാർ വായിചൊപ്പിഡേൻടതാണ്.

നിശ്ചയ പത്രം:

പത്തിരുപതു കൊല്ലം സ്വതന്ത്രമായ മനസ്സും ശരീരവുമായി വളർന്ന ഞാൻ എന്റെ വിവാഹം കഴിയുന്ന ദിവസം എന്റെ സ്വതന്ത്രചിത്തം, സാമാന്യ ബുദ്ധി, ചിന്തിക്കാനുള്ള കഴിവ് എന്നിവ വീട്ടിൽ നടക്കുന്ന ഹോമത്തിൽ മണ്ണെണ്ണയൊഴിച്ചു കത്തിക്കുമെന്നും ഇനിമേൽ എന്റെ ശരീരത്തിന്റെയും മനസ്സിന്റെയും ഉടമസ്ഥാവകാശം എന്റെ ഭർത്താവിനും, ഭർത്താവിന്റെ വീട്ടുകാർക്കുമുള്ളതാനെന്നും അംഗീകരിക്കുന്നു. കല്യാണശേഷം ഭർത്താവിന്റെ വീട്ടില് മാത്രമേ നിൽക്കാവു എന്നും , എന്റെ സ്വന്തം വീട്ടിൽ പോകുന്നത് കൊടും പാതകമാണെന്നും ഞാൻ മനസ്സിലാക്കുന്നു. വിദ്യാഭ്യാസം ഉണ്ടെങ്കിലും ഇല്ലെങ്കിലും ഞാൻ ജോലിക്ക് പോവുകയോ ജോലിയെക്കുറിച്ച് സംസാരിക്കുകയോ ഇല്ല. വീട്ടുജോലിയും, പ്രസവവും, കുഞ്ഞുങ്ങളെ നൊക്കലുമാനു എന്റെ തൊഴിൽ എന്ന് ഞാൻ അംഗീകരിക്കുന്നു. വീട്ടിലെ തക്കാളി, മാർക്കറ്റ്ഇലെ മത്തി, സാരിയുടെ മെറ്റീരിയൽ, സീരിയലിലെ ഗതിവിഗതികൾ ഇവയെക്കുറിച്ചല്ലാതെ രാഷ്ട്രീയം, ശ്രേഷ്ട്ടസാഹിത്യം സിനിമ എന്നിവയെക്കുറിച്ചോ, കുടുംബത്തിന്റെ സാമ്പത്തിക കാര്യങ്ങളിലോ ഞാൻ അഭിപ്രായം പറയുകയില്ലെന്നും, ഇടപെടുകയില്ലെനും ഇത് വഴി ഉറപ്പു നല്കുന്നു. എന്റെ ഭർത്താവിന്റെ  ഒരടി പുറകിലെ ഞാൻ നടക്കുകയുള്ളു എന്നും, അദ്ദേഹത്തിനെതിരെ ഒന്നും പറയുകയില്ലെന്നും, അദ്ദേഹത്തിന്റെ ഏതു അഭിപ്രായത്തോടും യോജിക്കുമെന്നും, അവഹേളിക്കപെട്ടാലും അപമാനിക്കപ്പെട്ടാലും പരാതി പറയുകയില്ല എന്നും. നന്ദിയുള്ളവളായിരിക്കുമെന്നും ഞാൻ ഉറപ്പു നല്കുന്നു.

എന്റെ ഭർത്താവിന്റെ കാലടിയിലാണ് സ്വർഗം എന്ന് ഞാൻ വിശ്വസിക്കുന്നു.

എന്ന്,
ഒപ്പ്

ഈ ചർച്ചകൾക്കിടയിലെവിടെയോ വിദ്യാഭ്യാസതോടൊപ്പം ഒരല്പം വിവരവുമുള്ള ആണുങ്ങളുണ്ടായിരുന്നു. എല്ലാരും പറഞ്ഞതോർമയില്ല. എന്നാലും കണ്നുടക്കിയ ഒരു കമന്റ്‌ താഴെ ചേർക്കുന്നു

” ഇക്കാലത്തും ഈ വർത്തമാനം പറയുന്നത് കഷ്ടം. രണ്ടു പേരും ജോലി ചെയ്താൽ ജീവിക്കാം. അല്ലാതെ വീട്ടിൽ മേശക്കപ്പുറവും ഇപ്പുറവും ഇരുന്നു മുഖത്ത് നോക്കിയിരുന്നാൽ ചിലവു നടക്കില്ല. “

പഴഞ്ചൻ ചിന്തകൾ മാറ്റണമെന്നും, പെണ്ണുങ്ങൾ ആരുടേയും അടിമകളോ തറവാട് സ്വത്തോ അല്ലന്നും, നിന്റെ പെങ്ങമ്മാരെയും പഠിക്കാൻ വിടുന്നില്ലേഡാ എന്നുമൊക്കെ വിദ്യാഭ്യാസം കുറഞ്ഞതും കൂടിയതുമായ വിവരമുള്ള ആണുങ്ങൾ പറഞ്ഞു. ഇവനൊന്നും ആണല്ല എന്നും നട്ടെല്ലില്ലാത്ത പെങ്കോന്തന്മാരാനെന്നുമാണ് നിശ്ചയ പത്രം എഴുതിയുണ്ടാക്കിയ സഹോദരന്മാരുടെയും,പിന്നെ പെണ്ണ് തന്നെയാണോ എന്നെനിക്കു സംശയിക്കേണ്ടി വന്ന ചില സഹോദരിമാരുടെയും നിഗമനം.

പ്രിയ സഹോദരാ,

വിവാഹം കഴിക്കുക എന്നതല്ല പെണ്‍കുട്ടികളുടെ ജീവിതാഭിലാഷം. എന്റെ ചിന്ത, സ്വപ്നം, അഭിപ്രായം, കുടുംബം  ഇതെല്ലാം എന്റെ വ്യക്തിത്വത്തിന്റെ ഭാഗങ്ങളാണ്. ആത്മാഭിമാനമുള്ള ഒരു പെണ്ണും സ്വന്തം വ്യക്തിത്വം, വിവാഹ കംബോളത്തിൽ വില്പനയ്ക്ക് വയ്ക്കാൻ താത്പര്യപെടുന്നില്ല. വയ്ക്കുകയുമില്ല. ഇത് തന്റേടമായി പറഞ്ഞുവല്ലോ. അഹങ്കാരമെന്നും വിളിച്ചു. ഒന്ന് പറഞ്ഞോട്ടെ, കൂടെ കൂട്ടുന്ന പെണ്ണിന് തന്റേടമുന്ടെങ്കിൽ അത് ജീവിതത്തിൽ ഒരു മുതൽക്കൂട്ടാവും. ജീവിതത്തിന്റെ പോർക്കളത്തിൽ ഒറ്റയ്ക്ക് പോരാടേണ്ടി വരില്ല. അതോർത്താൽ സഹോദരന് നല്ലത്.

എന്ന് ഒരു തന്റേടി സഹോദരി

The Beauty of Pregnancy

My not – yet – pregnant – friend beams

At my 36 week old baby bump

And from what she has heard, she says

It’s the most beautiful of all things known.

She mentions the glowing skin,

And the lustrous fuller denser mane,

And of course –

the wonder and magic of life within life.

I asked her what in the world she was talking about

I would’ve glowed if there was time and energy to

If the black patches on my skin would let it through.

My eyes now have permanent dark circles,

My face brings the puffer fish to shame.

Spider veins scurry under my blotchy skin,

Stretch marks, scars and dark lines creep in.

Hormones rage and darned emotions play –

I cry without reason and spend nights in depression.

Darned Fatigue and those blasted Hicks

makes me contemplate on death and beyond.

And the ‘bundle of joy’ –

the bundle of joy pokes and jabs at my ribs.

Makes my bladder his teddy and pillow,

when he is bored, he loves to play –

‘Karate Kicks’ and ‘Poke until it hurts’.

Lounging in his  premium sauna and spa

He then cranks up momma’s central heater

And orders a cocktail to sip on and relax.

He sleeps through the morning – silent and calm

stays up through the night and squirms around.

And I lie on my bed, in pitch black darkness

staring at the ceiling that I  obviously can’t see.

I tell her that the beauty’s not in the glow or the bump-

but in the pink line that  draws itself on the strip,

In the first flutter and the first ultrasound

In those little jabs, pokes, squirms and  hiccups,

There’s beauty in anticipation as well –

Anticipation of holding him, feeding him, and seeing him grow

But of all, the true beauty is in that moment

When I see him for the first time – a little creature

that has been born of my flesh and my blood!

When the teacher was taught a lesson by her students

Everyone has an experience in their life which makes them reconsider their career choice, or decide that this is what they want to do. And for me, it happened during the first few months of my first job.

When I stepped into the classroom of second graders, on the first day, as their class in charge, I was wondering ‘What the hell I was doing teaching a bunch of hyperactive second graders who obviously were going to get on my nerves’. And within the first month, I understood and agreed to the general and popular opinion among the teachers, that among the three classes I taught, two of them – a grade 2 class and a grade 4 class were notorious and unruly, while the third class was the most well disciplined of all, perhaps of all school and I agree without further arguments. The kids of this class were quiet, attentive and scored well in all their tests and assessments. But it was in those two infamous classes, the classes that teachers despised and considered bothersome that I had found a bunch of kids who changed my life around and made me realize the true meaning, joy and glory of being a teacher.

Little Pip was in grade 2 and most of the teachers told me that he had some sort of behavioural problem. So, I too entered the class with this prejudiced view that made me judge him through the preprogrammed eye. He never completed his work, wrote nothing on his book and whatever he wrote was rubbish, shabby and illegible. He just would not sit still and bothered everyone around him. His grades dangled at C and D and it wasn’t as if he cared.  Everyday, I walked into the staffroom and was greeted with complaints about him. I barged into the class with these on mind and with the slightest provocation screamed at him. Little Pip was comfortable being shouted at and he soon would go back to his old ways as if nothing had happened.

And then came the first open house. On that day I met the parents of Little Pip, and Tom who was in grade 4. Tom’s mother couldn’t speak English and she asked me whether there was anything I could do to help him out. I knew Tom as a child who always disturbed the class and went on talking. His grades were not that good either. There was another boy Tintin who always failed his tests and his spellings were horrible. The teachers and students told me that he had some problem although I still have no idea what it was. His parents met me as well and they seemed desperate for a solution. And as I went over their concerns at home, I wondered whether I was doing enough for these students . I reevaluated myself as a teacher, and my prejudice against these kids and decided that it was worth a try to go back into those classes with a clean slate. The next day, I walked into each class, determined about what I was going to do. And I knew what I was going to do.

I was going to scrap the lesson plan and the injected views about these kids.

I rearranged the classes and made an arrangement in a such a way that all the slow learners and students with other difficulties were around me. The brighter ones copied down the notes while I sat with those who needed help, helping them to write, often erasing out the mistakes I noticed and making them work again. Those who finished with the notes, went around helping others with their work. I handed out compliments every time someone got something right, even if that meant a curve of a letter they couldn’t properly form earlier. It was tedious but I wasn’t going to back out anyway. 

I did exactly the same with the my fourth grade Tintins and Toms. Those who could do the workbook on their own did it and those who needed help sat around me and worked. Every time they got stuck, I would help them, sometimes even going through a concept quickly. As the assessment week came nearer, I prepared revision sheets for students. I corrected them in class and for those who could not make it, I recycled the questions until they got the hang of it. Yes, it was not easy and needed a lot of energy and enthusiasm. 

When the kids saw that the teacher was there for them, it was as if they were more eager to work than ever before. Tintin was happy every time he nailed a question. I sent a note to his parents asking them make him practise at home, especially the spellings, and promised them that I would take care of the rest. It was not a one man show. There were kids in my classes like Mary, Sam and Harold who offered help to these kids during lunch hours or class hours and updated me on the status.

When the assessment results came, Little Pip and Tintin had aced while Tom made it to a B. That day I walked into the classes, and asked them to guess the grades. The kids guessed D and C, and was finally at awe when I told them the real grades. Let me tell you that, I had in no way adjusted or made the marking liberal for them. Those kids had worked for it and their classmates and parents had supported.

The moment I stood there watching those kids beam with joy, I knew I was proud of what they had achieved. That moment felt more fulfilling than anything in my life. That was the moment I realized that a teacher’s true achievements are the achievements of her students.

Sometime during that month, despite some protests, I gave the student of the week title to little Pip. In the days that followed, Little Pip changed. He enjoyed the attention that I gave him . His behavior and handwriting improved so much that it surprised me. One day, as I was writing something on my pad, he brought his book to me and showed his work. It was very neat and I gave him the pencil I had with me at that time. The complaints about him soon ceased and the teachers started to notice the change in him as well. There was even a teacher who taught the same class of mine who claimed to be the reason for his change. I didn’t mind. His mother told me during the next open house that he had improved a lot, and that he talks about me a lot. I received a note from Tom’s parents thanking me for the effort I had taken. Tintin, even after I left the school runs to me and meets me, wishes me and says thank you every time he sees me.

Soon after the end of that academic year, I left the school for another job. Let me tell you that there were many people in that school who really loved me, that soon after I left, criticisms about my teaching and disciplinary methods started flooding in from those who have not even seen a single class of mine. I have not tried to set the record straight. And none of these stories or experiences are there on my PD file. They are just personal memories that I’ve taken with me.

Those were the kids who taught me that lesson plans and blue books aren’t everything. It’s all about the strong feeling that you give them, the feeling that your teacher would be there for you when you need her, that she would not label them or let a label define them,that she would be able to see past those labels, and that she would not forsake them.  And for me the greatest achievements are and will be those students who come to me even after several years telling me that they remember me and would remember me as one of the  teachers who made a mark in some manner, and their achievements of which they consider me a part of.

On a road trip with apple maps

Joy-of-Tech-Apple-Mapgate

So I dropped Khalid off at his school and on my way back, lost my way and ended up at what looked like ‘the middle of nowhere’. After some failed trials and an hour later, I decided to use whatever data that was left on my mobile to guide me home. That was when I realized that I had not downloaded google maps after my recent phone switch and that I’m left with apple’s maps. I had heard a lot about apple maps, but internet always exaggerates, it couldn’t be that bad, right?

So I decided to use the apple maps and here is our conversation.

————————————————————————————————————————————————–

apple: I can’t find your location.

Me: *Turns location services on*

apple: okay, where are you….hmmm…. yeah… guess you are here :| . Where do you want to go?

Me: M – U – S

apple: Musaffah police station / musaffah?

Me:

200

Musaffah!

apple: Sorry, Can’t find the place

Me:

200-8

then why did you ask?

apple:

200-3

Me: Fine, Musaffah police station

apple: Okay, here you go… this is the route

Me: Ok, start routing

apple: can’t do. There is no road nearby

Me* What!! I’m on a road. I’m on a fricking road apple. I’m on one of those grey ash things that you call a road. THIS IS A ROAD. Show me the way you stupid app

Apple:

200-11

Me: *tries google app download, but it doesnt download. So I go on web and use the search. It gives the route but unfortunately it is not hands free.

Me: Apple, please show me the way

Apple: from your location, right?

Me – Uh – huh *sob*

Apple: to where?

Me: Musaffah police station

Apple : dont know – where is that place?

Me:

200-10200-12

200-7

And since my 3G was still stubborn on not downloading google maps, I pulled over and asked a man who was nice enough to lead me to the Musaffah exit. Sometimes the old fashioned way is much much better!

And you apple, it should be illegal for you to make maps!

The Sneerwell Chronicles – The facebook, child care and piercing edition.

Scan 3Have you heard of Lady Sneerwell? Met her and her sly sidekick Snake?

If you have read Sheridan’s ‘School of Scandal’, chances are that you already know them both. It doesn’t matter even if you haven’t. In my stories, Lady Sneerwell is that woman who can be anyone from my mother to that nameless woman whom I met at the coffeeshop, who thinks it is her duty and responsibility to poke her hooked, straight or flat nose into someone else’s business, and if possible provide a manual on how to look and live -‘The Sneer manual of appropriate living, appearance and existence’.  Snake solves the question of gender equality by being the male version of this very respectable (according to Sneerwell standards) woman.

So in the years that I have existed in this beautiful world (if you slough off the cankerous human kind, it really is  beautiful – the people and the world), I’ve met and continue to meet a lot of Sneerwells and Snakes that it is impossible to talk about all of them in a single post. (Please do not be misled by my doodle. Sneerwells come in all sizes and shapes) However, I will inaugurate the Sneerwell chronicles with this story of an April night (or was it July?)

Well, Mrs. Sneerwell paid us a visit at our family home that night with her daughter and grand daughter. She looked radiant as always and greeted me with “Have you gained weight again?” I smiled politely and told her that there might be a problem with her vision considering the fact that I had lost almost 10 kilos at that time. That’s when she noticed the subtle glint of a little diamond on my right nostril. Sneer well gasped and pointed at it.

“No one pierces their right nostril”

I glanced left and right, and tried to recollect all the faces I’ve seen that has had a little pin stuck on to their many shaped noses. I couldn’t recollect any. I calmed myself and said “Depends, North Indians pierce the right side, South Indians get the left pierced and other countries don’t even care which side. In my case, I happen to have a right nostril that is a bit more defined than the left. Meri marzi (My wish)”

The woman pointed her chin up and tried snubbing “Well, I have never heard of – ”

I didn’t hear the rest of it as i made sure whatever she was telling me now was well received by my ass.

Since we Indians believe in the much unwanted “Athithidevo Bhava” which apparently put us under Colonial rule for a long time (but we never learn, do we?); someone brought the usual sorts of munchies and chais and soon she settled down comfortably at the front porch with her little grand daughter who was eight months old at that time. As she bounced her up and down on her knees, she turned to my three year old son who was saying something and unleashed her wisdom

“Your child can’t talk properly yet. It is not clear.Show him to a doctor.” Not a bad advice, considering his speech was not that clear at that time as he was a late talker. She continued “Had you spent half the time you spent on facebook with him, he would have talked fluently by now”

And that. was. it.

I straightened up, smiled and told her this:

“Well, you know what. Your grand child is eight months and you are still bouncing her on your knees, telling me that your poor daughter needs help to look after a child and that’s why you moved in with them. Not that there is anything wrong with that, but before you judge me, you should know that I was back in that flat of mine in UAE with a three month old, without any help, and clueless as to how to look after him. I cooked, cleaned, looked after my child – bathed him, fed him and played with him. Days on stretch, he would not go to sleep and I’ve stayed awake with him. There were nights he would bawl continuously when he was sick or just cannot sleep. Those days, I stayed with him throughout the night, all the while exhausted and tired. I couldn’t call my mother over to bounce him on her knees so that I could take a nap. She was too far away. I’ve had days when my house was a mess and I would sleep with my baby, unconcerned about the thrown around clothes and uncooked food. There were days and nights when I have cried, finding all of it over whelming. And yes, I am proud of it – I’m proud of the fact that my child and I had learnt together our new roles in life. I’m proud that I did it all alone when most new mothers sought the help of their mothers. And yes, whenever I get time, I face book. I don’t watch television at all. When others spend their time before the screen, I catch up with my friends, relatives and connect to a world outside the four walls and find my ‘Me time’  on internet. When my baby wakes up, we play, we sing and we talk.”

“And if you have not known, kids develop differently. We have already taken him to a doctor. He says the child is fine. He will pick up eventually. People around me in UAE tell me that children there start talking late and if the doctor says it’s fine; it’s fine. ”

Thanks to those good souls, the burns from the the fire Mrs. Sneerwell had set upon on  my mind was soothed. Some of them shared their experiences and told me that their kids too were late talkers. The second one picks up early since they have an elder sibling. It’s because they don’t see many people and don’t have the opportunity to interact with others of their own age. And no matter what we do as adults, sit and talk or show them videos, they pick up language easier when they are with their own kind. My son started talking fluently and singing rhymes when he was two and a half, thanks to my neighbour girls who always took him around to play with.

If your child has not started talking by the age of two, consult a doctor. If he says it’s ok, put him in a play group. And ignore Mrs. Sneerwell and her theories of her own making.

When he was four, one of my colleagues told me that it’s fascinating that he talks beautiful Malayalam. Last year, when I was doing my CELTA course, my trainer came in, a native English speaker and after talking to my boy who was seven at that time told us that he might be a good test subject for us to practice on as his English is quite good. I don’t know why but Mrs. Sneerwell flashed through my mind’s eye on both instances and all I could do was smile.

Something about a woman and a fort. 

She walked into the middle of the forest

Measured a piece of land as her own 

With a spell erected forts of solitude

And closed the iron gates of her fort. 

Swift return to the centre of the plot,

With thoughts  that made a twisted knot,

She sat cross legged and mumbled on. 

The wax figures around her melted on

The colours combined to a dirty brown

And the muddy murkiness curdled on

And into oblivion her mind walked on. 

She sat there

And the world melted on

Leaving her and her forts of solitude. 

The fort tomorrow may come down

Until then the world around her curdles on!