I.

I am made of a thousand ill-fitting blocks of a dozen different types of wood, each jagged and rugged and rotting and flimsy in some inconvenient, peculiar way. Each piece is uniquely misshapen, different from the last in the most unhelpful manner, difficult to move or mold or mend. I am a lousy jenga tower that's bound to topple over and make a mess at any moment.

My body is a patchwork of old cloth, worn cotton, and frayed bits of yarn, held together by sheer force of will and dumb luck. Every seam, every clumsily-tied knot, every crease and fold is a testament to the times I've been left out in the sun for too long, the times I've been blown away by a strong wind, the times I've been sat on and stomped on and forgotten for a while. I am a simple doll bought from a village fair, and the old woman who sewed me doesn't think of me anymore.

I am many things, many small things, many neglected playthings of old. I am the cheap plastic jigsaw your parents got you when you threw a tantrum at the store because you wanted a toy but it wasn't the right occasion. For each day out of my box, I spent a year in some cupboard or closet—unused, random bits strewn across your bedroom floor. I can't put myself together. My pieces don't fit anymore.

by Arwin Shams Siddiquee

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‘Delete’: Sehri Tales selections, Day 8

II.

"Tell me what is life to you?"

" A puzzle"

"And what are the pieces?"

"Not what, rather who."

"Okay. Who?"

"It's the people you meet till the end."

"How so?"

"The moment you're born you're blank, each person you meet from that day on till your end fills up the blank completing the whole picture that depicts your life like how a puzzle works."

"Solid"

by Navid Hossain

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‘Phobia’: Sehri Tales selections, Day 7

III.

A jigsaw puzzle piece;

Hiding under a hundred polished pieces,

Waiting for the hand to finally find it

A place that houses its carefully crafted edges

But it fears, the puzzle might not spare a space

Would its fate then be of an extra that never seemed to fit?

Look closer,

Are we not all the same?

by Shaikh Sabik Kamal