And I realised: / even in the line to hell, / waiting for punishment, / we'd still reach for chanachur. / We'd still find comfort / in the crunch of survival
It would rain in the rains / And the rest of this poem would be written by someone else
Something you may... You may never find again.
My love always arrived wrapped in silence, wrapped in dust. But that was childhood.
We will make meaning out of the holes in the sun
There’s a purgatorial break between these stretches …flaxen against the lights
I am not a single name. Not a single wound.
Grey chips of rough cement Rust rubble all around,
This was the way it ended: not with fire, But carried quietly under sleep-beds,
Words were never my greatest strength/ But the arsonist's child will read them
The top selections in poetry, flash fiction and artwork for Day 8 of the Sehri Tales challenge; prompt: Flick
The top selections in poetry, flash fiction and artwork for Day 2 of the Sehri Tales challenge; prompt: Rescue
The top selections in poetry, flash fiction and artwork for Day 1 of the Sehri Tales challenge; prompt: Ignite.
How do I tell her, that things often don't work out the way you expect them to, / And that you are, in fact, alone in this
I've lived as her; / I've known my mother’s plight.
Years later, when I would no longer live in my parents' room and grow to have my own,/ I would disregard all the hours I had spent by the window staring at beetles hiding.
We will chase after stringless kites, Down the road
I heard myself speak today It made me want to Cut out my tongue.
But I bloom like a flower:/ Soft and strong.
