POEM OF THE WEEK ~ SHAISTA TAYABALI, WITH SWANS

In October, 2018, we chatted with my friend Shaista Tayabali, who lives in Cambridge, England, and blogs at Lupus In Flight. As her blog name suggests, Shaista lives with the ongoing challenges of lupus, and these last months have been difficult ones for her. One night I read the following poem, and thought you might like to read it, too,  and hear how she is doing. She is such a lovely girl, and poet, beloved of all who know her. Let's pour some Lady Grey tea, and have a wee visit across the Pond with Shaista.

A SWAN IS LIKE A SOFT FLUFFY PILLOW

I saw a swan sip the river today 

And I worried about plastic.
I was relieved when I saw the bread

Someone had flung over, enthusiastic.

I saw a counsellor today. 

Except he turned out not to be one. 

I am a psychiatric nurse, he said,

And you are not a problem. 

My kind of problem, he meant, 

and he meant it kindly.

No suicide for him that day,

And he was surely glad of it.

But I had been longing for a place to grieve, 

To weep my river of sorrows.

Instead I walked to the graveyard,
And paused beside the bridge;

I watched the swan sip,
And sunlight dip,

On the swan’s soft fluffy pillow.

And I tucked my tears up, under. 

Shaista: I posted this poem in the middle of the night...when I woke up, I woke up to International Women's Day...and my first thought was, 'Oh no. I ought to have posted something of inspiring value, of recognition at least of the wonder of other women, if not of myself.' Instead I had posted about mournfully gazing at swans after a very peculiar twenty minutes with a psychiatric nurse who didn't think there was anything wrong with me.

This desire to be of service, and be in gratitude, is a powerful instinct in me, and has driven my voice for most of my blog, because it is authentic to who I am. And yet, so much of what we suffer is the silence in between ‘How are you?’ and ‘I’m fine!’ Or even, ‘I’m alright.’ Or even, ‘Not great, to be honest, but I’ll be ok.’ A sort of self therapy we all practise because we are aware that the eyes of the gods are watching us for hints of ingratitude. And we wish that nothing worse might befall us. 

The first crocuses!

But here in the place of poetry I do feel safe. Or maybe because Sherry is here, and she is my friend, our friend, keeping us sheltered from storms for a little while, even as she calls herself Wild Woman, which means she is out there in the storm herself. 

Thank you dear readers, for accompanying me on that bridge. Perhaps the swans were you, in a different form, in a moment that has looped back to scoop me up. 

Sherry: I hope those swans reminded you that you have friends who love you, in many places in the world, who so admire your ability to see the beauty of swans, even on the difficult days. 

Thank you for this poem, which touches our hearts. You remind us that, while we try to maintain an attitude of gratitude, there are times that are tough. This is real. We all can relate to those times. We all need someone or somewhere to share those tearful moments. (And the counsellor is a ninny, in my judicial opinion. Smiles.)

Dear girl,  you are inspiring...one young woman, walking bravely through the hard days, and bringing us swans. I am reminded of my son Jeff, who once told me, “to understand a swan, you have to learn how to cry.” I thought that was beautiful.

 Shaista's book of poems and sketches is available here.

Thank you, Shaista. You always touch our hearts. And thank you, dear readers, for being a soft place to fall for our fellow poets. Do come back and see who we talk to next. Who Knows? It might be you!