•August 21, 2016 • Leave a Comment

Round eyes peered and the face that was mostly cheeks

Constipated with shame, but morbidly fascinated, peeks

At her body, a work of grotesquerie

Some say fluffy, some say puffy.

She is repelled by her corpulent figure

Reflected in the lake.

How could she have gotten bigger?

As though in her stomach lying awake

Was an insatiable gigantic snake.

And she goes running again to the patisserie.

Then after she ate

She tempted fate

Looking at herself again,

Tempted with cream and cake

She fell in hate.


What are you due?

You should see a fitness guru.

All that fat gonna kill you.

Everyone is raving about this miracle stew.

Don’t look so blue.

I wouldn’t tell you if it weren’t true.

Mischief begins to brew.


The diets don’t work.

The trainer is a jerk.

These supplements are just a fad.

Finally! End of session.

Where is that fun she should have had?

On the brink of depression

Our girl has had enough.

The process was not a little tough.


It was when she learnt to be content

Despite all the time and money she had spent

With that the one body, that house of soul

Need tender loving care to mend the hole

Of imagined inadequacy.


The power of the mind is underrated.

A lot of love, a little respect: freedom from hatred

And it would be sated.


Louella Mahabir

21st. August


Half a heart

•August 20, 2016 • Leave a Comment

Life flourishes to grow

Slightly diminished if one doesn’t know.

Day by day, a child will play

And remnants of innocence will with him stay.

Pieces of the heart that once was whole

As immense and ample

But she only remains with a sample

As fleeting and fragile as the world is old.

At first she is blissfully ignorant

Then the void becomes gaping and blatant

The search begins, seemingly leisurely

But he’s actually rummaging desperately.

Where is it?

What is it?

He knows not.

She can’t guess.


That part of the heart that she searches for in art.

The missing piece absent from the dregs of the wine of solace and peace.

Joyless hugs, powerless drugs, hapless dugs and humourless thugs

Flavourless flings and soulless things

Clam chowder, white powder,

Shaking trees that do not bear

To see if one can see, think, feel or hear

The evasive half.


It must be in my imagination, that almost inaudible mocking laugh…


They suffer and pine

Until they divine

That it is not out there

But in here.


Louella Mahabir

20th. August


•August 20, 2016 • Leave a Comment

You can’t deny the merits of sitting still

Letting providence erase the tiny hill

Of small conflicts that per chance arise.

But it is also wise, if it calls, not to fold.


To be bold

Is to be feline and unafraid

Of what you might by chance meet

To claim treasures languishing at your feet

Where they were laid.

Leave behind demure and staid

All your fibres woven into a strong braid

Which will not be left trailing or fused to a yoke

But to climb

The crags and cliffs you’ve yourself hewn

Getting in your own way

Multitude of hopes strewn

Along the path for predators and creditors

Laughing and yawning when the large stones fall

To bruise your head and snatch away the day.


But this is your mountain.

You aren’t sure? I am certain.

You’ve drunk your concoction

Revered an illusion

Then await the craft of a far off magician

To cart away the debris and take off with you in flight

Free you of your plight

Because you fear doing it yourself stone by stone


Hmmm, no backbone.

You’ve established this trail

Ignore the heart.

You’ve already set yourself up to fail.

No point in not being afraid.

In its absence, you can’t gage

Clarity after pointless rage

The measure of your own courage.

You are not the first in your predicament

Nor are you without implement.

Continue the ascent.

Everything can’t be lovely and pleasant.

Your morale stands in peril

As you don’t grasp and hold with force or will.

All is lost if you continue to stand still.


Louella Mahabir

20th. August.

Whores of Hedge Money

•August 20, 2016 • Leave a Comment

Underground kings in the highest towers
Now made of glass instead of the stone
The red mortar remains
None can ever remove such stains.

They’ve tired of the minstrel and bard
Their wives and concubines no longer wrapped
In lamb, ham, gravy and lard
Kings lust for blood
Not drops or mouthfuls but in a great flood.

She longs to disappear, so he will notice her.
He longs for them to disappear
Yet wishes them to remain here
To wage war,
That outlasts sword and spear
Out of which is forged an idea
That all of which they hold dear
Is worth fighting for if they really care.

So the skirmishes continue
Little feudal quarrels we live to rue
Most on the hedge jumping over whichever edge
To the side that has the advantage.
The blockades and stockades
What is his soul to you if it were not for prices and merchandises?
What is her body to you but another brick?
You don’t have to be such a…

Louella Mahabir
August 19th.

Tribute to Frida Kahlo

•December 24, 2015 • Leave a Comment

My translation could never do her justice. I salute you lady…

You deserve a love that wants you disheveled, with everything, and is the reason you wake up quickly, with everything, and the demons that won’t let you sleep.

 You deserve a love that makes you feel safe, that can eat up the whole world by walking with your hand , that feels that your arms go perfectly with their skin.

You deserve a love that wants to dance with you, that goes to paradise by looking in your eyes, and never gets bored reading your expressions.

You deserve a love that listens to you sing and supports you when you’re being ridiculous, respects that you are free, accompanies you in your flight without fear of falling.

 You deserve a love that drives away lies, and brings illusion, coffee and poetry.

-Frida Kahlo


you deserve

On inappropriate anger. Get over yourself

•December 24, 2015 • 1 Comment

Ice Queen, De-clawed


Seldom does one find in this lifetime

Everything one desires in one single thing

Little things come together…and they rhyme!

First apply a little faith, ignore the barbs that sting.

Liberty and Dignity, first on your list,

Of course, generous amounts of humility.

Very rarely do I see all my iniquity,

Each time I am hurt, under a pretext,

Hastily lash out in anger

Eliciting respect.

Audacious and bold, brandishing my stinger,

Ludicrous, foolishly deserving of what I get.


23rd. December, 2015

This poem unfolded and it was totally unexpected

•December 23, 2015 • Leave a Comment

Elements of the Dreamscape

I gaze up at the sky as I lay on my back,

Azure peeping through my tree’s intricate green dress,

Breezes bringing calming essences and warmth, melting away stress,

A trail of ants march up and down a tiny beaten track,

Their tireless toil somehow syncs in harmony,

With the peaceful flow of a brook nearby,

The keskidee fighting for food seem sufficiently happy,

The wind and the leaves rustle a lullaby,

Everything illuminates in the vibrant energy of the sun,

It’s golden life-force pouring out,

Like a potent potion overflowing from a glowering cauldron,

Commanding respect, all are erect, at attention.

The gentle rain left crystalline drops on the leaves and grass,

Who are seduced by the radiant star from afar.

So they morph, and sail, transparent, obediently, to him.

The rich, wet, earth, black and nubile,

From which spring bright and bold blossoms,

That open wide to bask in uninhibited love,

Moist with raindrops and nectar.

Desire stirs with thoughts of juicy fruits hanging above.

I dream of sinking my teeth in delectable flesh,

Flavour bursting on my tongue,

Drenches my lips and runs down my front.

My imagination runs wild.

Still, I leave it to fate,

To find me my rightful, life-long playmate.


22nd. December, 2015