Far from my prescribed world: Four poems by Mary Tina Shamli Pillay
Photo: Karan Madhok
‘Pressured through the / mist, we are tormented / by the sharp blue sky, / the muffled din of a / wailing child, the crackle / of a hostess, the wrapping / unwrapping of smiles.’
Exile and The Exiled
Fortune has embraced
me, and fame—an
annoying companion,
we quarrel much, I often
wish her away—yet we
are bitter-sweet.
She mends me, albeit
briefly, for in my heart
truly dwells the soil that
brought me forth, and
until I breathe her once
again, my soul melds but
tears apart, apart and
again.
My self is no illusion;
he survives, miles across,
beckoning his pieces to
come make him whole.
Pressured through the
mist, we are tormented
by the sharp blue sky,
the muffled din of a
wailing child, the crackle
of a hostess, the wrapping
unwrapping of smiles.
The gleaming wings
pierce the scalding sun,
whilst rising hills slathered
with moss rub shoulders
with pits quarried for stone,
and survey watered paths
plastered with hope.
In deafening silence, I
gaze, buoyed by the
thought of touching
down; the whiff of
home, the laughter on
eager faces, us sinking
into the aroma of years
gone by.
Concrete tiles soon turn
to start-up homes, roads
embed themselves in fertile
fields I once roamed, the
rising palms and soaring
dreams—all approaching
with grinding ferocity.
The palms, the dreams, the
fields—my own. It’s me! I
breathe her once again.
*
Wedding Dress
Anchored in a sea of
faces, I stood tall in
an impeccably pearly
wedding dress, blinding,
but a beacon—I was
told—for the young
women in that crowd,
as they waited at anchorage
for their own turn to berth.
It was their dream, our
dream, till we sailed into
the storm of life, pitching
and rolling, before knowing
we lost, we lost us, in the
wedding dress, blinded, yet,
shining for the thousands
who came after us.
*
The Thick of Pain
It is raw and rained, the
stain—verdant—as I
watch the globule wobble
in its place, and grudgingly
slide, slick down the
glistening blade of a tough
green leaf—a stiff prop
jostling for its rightful place
in the play. I look to the
falling columns of rain; I
look the falling columns in
the eye, as they pummel,
knock through the canvas
of leaves, renewing the
faith of the forest floor
beneath. My toes tease
the water’s edge. It tenses,
ripples away in diffused
darkness to meet a falling
silence, and with it, particles
of rain, like pain, muffled in
stealth, some, whispering in
full view.
*
Write
Far away from my prescribed
world, there is a corner to
which only I hold the key.
Where no one enters, nor
trespasses—by accident
or intention—because they
do not believe it exists, can
exist unto me. It is a place
I quietly slink into, surrounded,
yet undetected; where I have
no need to excuse myself or
seek permission. It’s me, and
me alone, guarded by unmasked
words and naked inhibitions,
singing with gay abandon in
the voice of a soul—born
free—and free it shall remain
to speak to the world, of the
world, its many follies—unsinged,
unhinged—for far away from
the prescribed world, there is
a room to which only I hold the
key.
***
Mary Tina Shamli Pillay’s poems and stories have appeared on BBC Radio, Kitaab, The Mean Journal, Blink-Ink, Borderless Journal, and elsewhere. Her first book of poems, I Met a Feather, was published in 2023. She enjoys exploring different forms of fiction and poetry. Tina is a Teacher, Language Editor and Political Enthusiast. She grew up in Oman before moving back to India. She now lives in Chennai, India, and can be contacted at: mtspillay@gmail.com and followed on Instagram @marytinashamlipillay.
