VERSE | THE GIRL WHO NOW SLEEPS

Dedicated to the memory of all those young people who struggled to fit into the norms dictated by their communities and who lost that battle. May the second wind in your sails be glorious and joyful.

LISTEN TO THE POEM BEING READ AT: https://vm.tiktok.com/ZSde5UerP/?k=1
I’m going to tell you a little story
Of a girl who loved too much
Lived too much, hoped too much
They said, she was too much!
She was a queen, a young one
But she had that zest for life
That is so rare and beautiful
That is also so ominous and direful

The story goes that she was born
In the wrong place at the wrong time
Nothing seemed to feel right in fact
She was told to be someone that
She wasn’t. She was taught, against her will
To be the clone of a fantasy
That had persisted for centuries

And so the queen crumbled
Atom by atom, bit by bit, little by little
She fell apart like a young sapling
That has been buffeted and knocked about
By righteous winds whipped up
By those who were afraid of her
Of our queen getting out of the box
That they had so faithfully built for her

She finally broke into a million pieces
And she plummeted
She had once known how to fly like an eagle
To soar up to the top of the world
But that memory was gone, pounded out
And so she fell
Hitting the ground six feet deep
And that is where she now sleeps.

VERSE | YOU ARE

You Are
Too different
Too controversial
Too weird
Too quiet
Too absent

You Are
Too passionate
Too frigid
Too pushy
Too gregarious
Too reserved

You Are
Too opinionated
Too invested
Too indifferent, disinterested

You Are
Too much but
You Are
Also not enough

These arrows used to fly
East and west
Between the bazaars and the mosques
Down and up
From my beating heart
To my silent mouth, forging
Right angles containing me
In burnished boxes glittering bright
But in the moorings
Of all these paradoxes writhing out
Like strident dirges from treacherous lyres
Howling of brimstone and hellfire
Now I hear only one thing
I only hear that one constant thing

YOU ARE!

In the refrains that ring
Thunder and break
I hear it sing:

YOU ARE!

In all that cacophony
In the clarion calls of propriety
Pounding, rounding endlessly
From the steeples of society
That is all I ever hear now

🌸 YOU ARE! 🌸 YOU ARE! 🌸 YOU ARE! 🌸

Yes I am! I finally am! This is me
And that is all I ever need to be.
Image: Fine Art America

VERSE | PERIOD PIECE

(This piece is about limitations, both physical and mental on women. It is about a woman dealing with the biology of her own body in an environment that has disgraced and stigmatized it.

This piece has also been accepted as part of the 2024 Women Scream anthology, a platform that unites voices for violence against women and is celebrated on international women’s day across a number of countries).

Give me something to sleep 
Just for a while, a few hours maybe

What’s bothering you?
This thing, this ungodly thing
I’m sullied, impure again

Impure again?
My insides are bleeding anew

Why are you whispering?
Because it’s this dirty secret bound to me
It keeps violating, assaulting me
With such ravening regularity
I have to beg my sister to visit
(She has that freedom, that liberty)
So she can come bearing these
Brazen packs of sordid things
The stigma! the cruel savagery
Of having my womb constantly
Bleed and weep and shame and sting

I see the look on my husband’s face
When I can’t make his meals
In Ramzan, or on eid
(I can’t even iron his prayerful shalwar kameez*)
I still recall - I cringe and I cry at the memory
I couldn’t attend my little one’s very first Ameen*
I had taught him his Alif Laam Meem*
I couldn’t say
I couldn’t tell them to move the day
How could I!
I hid in the shadows while my mother-in-law
Did everything
Hugging my child
Lavishing him all the while
With maternal love, where my love should have been
Mine I had put away, hidden, unclean
Until I was done with this bane
But the occasion has gone like so many others
When I was stripped of the soul of a mother
That precious moment passed me by
Even my father-in-law watched from jaundiced eyes
His expression… such disappointment - such contempt
The embarrassment! The torment!
I wanted to die

The first fast is tomorrow and I bleed again
I’m wretched, repulsive, tainted
But I’m tired of hiding, melting away
In the darkest recesses of the house
I’m tired of playing cat and mouse
With my dignity, my sense of self
I’m tired of becoming invisible
For a week every month, ceasing to be
A mother, a wife, a human being
I’m tired of fading, becoming a wraith
I’m tired… I’m tired of this unholy plague

Give me something, something to sleep
Give me something to fly me away
On the quiet wings of eternal release.
Image: April Mansilla
*Shalwar kameez: tunic and pants worn by men and women across the greater Indian subcontinent.

*Ameen: term used to signify the event/ celebration when a child has finished reading the whole Quran.

*Alif, Laam, Meem: Alphabets that occur in the Quran. In this context, teaching the Quran with all its semantics.

VERSE | WEIGHT WHAT?

(This piece is about body image issues that so many women face especially as they get older. It takes a lot of character and guts to not let the negativity get to you. Again, this objectification is a product of our chauvinistic environments).

You’ve put on weight, wait! 
Does this mean that you’re eating too many sweets
Or could it be that you’re finally getting old
Old, rolled, holed into the box
That’s been built for you, no u-turns
Nothing you can fox your fading way out of
You’re done. Stay in the shadows, woman
Know your place
Face the truth of tradition
Perdition
Hard-wired into your being, your biology
Know your place
Or we’ll remind you
Laughingly, ribbing along the line
Where we can jest or malign

I’m caught off guard, but I’ve also been
Wrought, fraught, taught
To feel bad for feeling bad
To smile wide
Wide enough to swallow his sin and my own hurt
My eyes scrunch up, almost close
Those windows to my soul
Beclouded, beclogged, becloaked
Lest the world see the state of my heart
He feels bad for an instant, he reneges
Laughingly, now ribbing across the line
I feel worse that he feels bad
My smile widens until I can feel it cut into my skin
His sin and my guilt doubled
Lancing at my face, etching unnatural lines
Into furrows that make me look
Comic, demonic, they take their pick
On the day they feel a rage
Righteous, man-ifold and brave
That they then spill into the ruts
Of my shame-shambled face.
Image: Zelal Guzlan

VERSE | THREE-PART TRAGEDY

This is about all the women who are killed in the name of honour or privilege or archaic customs. Women like Mukhtaran Mai who was gang raped as per the ruling of the local jirga or court of the elders of the community. And Qandeel Baloch who dared to be bigger than the box she was born in and paid for it when her brother whom she financially supported, killed her in cold blood.

PART ONE:
Pin me, skin me
Kick me in my shins please
Bring me buckling, crashing down
Then grin as you haul me up
Dust me down, make an act of freeing me
When I’ve lost all my will to be me

Churn me, burn me
Laugh in my face, spurn me
Then adulate, adore me
But airily, lightly
Politically-correctly
When I can’t feel your torment or love
Or anything else inside me

PART TWO:
Juice me, use me
Mangle and abuse me
Then write up columns flush with
New found awakening
A social issues deciphering
All the while computing,
Measuring, forecasting
Your own index of hero-worship
For calling out brutality
Other demons, other sins
Out of your realm of reality
But you orate and preachify
Because it is your deliverance
From mundaneness, insignificance


Roar out, be devout
Let your new found arousal
Wash over everyone
“Not all of us are like that”
Shout it out, don’t hold back
Declare it with panache
You are righteous no one can forget
Everyone else’s moral compass
Is a fickle sickle, directionless
You’re guilt free with that homily
With your ringing voice and sacchrine smile
You present it proudly to me
When all I can see are lips and eyes
A Leviathan dripping honeyed lines
Onto a transfixed audience
They watch and gently chew the cud
Of the weed that they are fed
By evangelical heroes of prime time

PART THREE:
Boot me, loot me
Strangle me, shoot me
Then have a ball in my name
Found a charity, earn some fame
Let the posthumous heroine
With her tomb-tough shoulders
Become your newest Taj Mahal
Let her catapult you to the top
Always from her deadest parts
A pillaged body, a spirit crushed
A tragedy censored and hushed
From her countless cuts and gashes
She now hides under her eyelashes
While YOU and YOU and YOU and YOU
Rise like a phoenix from her ashes.
Image: Fine Art America

VERSE | WALKING ACROSS THE STREET TO THE PARK

I wish this verse was more wholesome and whimsical like Robert Frost’s “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening”, but that it is not. This is about women determinedly forging on across streets, bazaars, workplaces, government offices, neighbourhoods and communities. This verse is also not so much about the woman hopeful of change (God knows that’s going to take its time in our blessed homeland), but the woman who is stoic and steadfast. It is the woman who goes about her day despite the odds that pull at her body, spirit and soul. It is the woman who dares to bare her true self despite and in fact because society expects otherwise. It is the woman who walks in her neighborhood afraid yet brave. May you find your grit and your grace for the rest of the days of your life.

A resolute, meaningful Women’s Day to all my friends and family 🌺


I wear my track pants
And a pink shirt, long
It says “Life is a song”
I wonder if it’s too loud
Stoking thoughts like a gong
A shout
To the world of men that teams about
The streets
Eyes peeled
For glimpses of variously clad
Women that are mad
Enough to sidle into the periphery of their sight
And special leery gazes
Trained like full-throttled tasers
On women who dare
To bare
More than the hand wrist down
Or a smidgeon of a toe around
Which sits an uncomfortable sandal
A Soleful reminder
To walk cautiously
To always look behind her
To shrink as small as she is able
So she might pass
With a warning glance
From the men sitting around
Jenetic Judges of right and wrong

For the women who dare
To bare
There’s a special gaze
For their fall from grace
From the fraternity that mills about
The corners of streets
Superior, upright
Pissing in plain sight
Marking their territories
For the women who dare to bare
More than the eyes
Downcast, demure
Vacuous and pure
For them there’s the death stare
Cutting them down to size
I’m one of those
Who - Dares - To - Bare
The woman within
The whole human being
Self assured, aware
She sits in my eyes
Unfaltering, dignified
Even as her heart drums inside
As she traverses that den
Of wolves, dressed as men.
Image: Ramona Pintea

BOOK READING | VELVET DREAMS

Reading an excerpt from the short story “Velvet Dreams” from my book THE GIRL WITH THE PAISLEY DUPATTA. The anthology of short stories is available across bookstores in Sri Lanka and at Liberty Books and Paramount Books in Pakistan. Do get your copies folk 🌸

The Girl with the Paisley Dupatta is divided into three sections: Pakistan, Sri Lanka and the USA. The last category is an ode to that most ingenious art form – political satire.

Most of the stories in the book revolve around the social, cultural and even faith related challenges that women face in their day to day lives. This particular story however is about family pressure and the main protagonist is a man 🤓

VERSE | GRIT

For all the women and the men supporting them; for all those who get up every morning and despite all odds make it through the day surviving, shining, rising. For the friends and families of Sara, Mahsa, Noor, Qurat Ul Ain and of the countless nameless others like them: your grit is everything.

When it’s been tormenting
Day after day. With no respite
And I just don’t have it in me to fight
To battle on
When I’m war-weary
When there is no end in sight
And all I want to do
Is sit in a dark room
And let its coolness shroud me
Until I can feel the hair
Stand on my skin. There
Is suddenly more to the day
Than the heaviness in my heart
And the endlessness of the grey
That has been flowing, gripping choking me
Keeping me doubled down on my knees
There’s more beyond that malevolent mien
Images, memories driving me insane

Now -

Now there is also something
On the outside of me
A little chill
A little photo on the window sill
Both pull at me in different ways
One makes icicles
To sear through
The magma that has congealed
Inside of me
The other makes my blood flow warm
Streaming, coursing through my veins
Reminding me that I’m not alone
My spirit and my fortitude
Still cloak my shoulders
Strong and true
I sit up straight
As they reverberate
Through every atom of my being
And they chant
An age old song
Of others like me
Who’ve fought on
Their hearts fused forever
With the loved ones they’ve lost
And I know
That I’m not wielding my sword alone

VERSE | ALONE

I’m alone … but I’m not really alone
In all the ways that don’t matter
That shouldn’t matter, I’m never alone
In all the ways that I need someone
In all the ways of being human
I’m alone. There is no one.

It wasn’t always like this, this lonesomeness
It came on slowly as time went by
As I transitioned, nay devolved
Dislodged from the blessed marital fold
From a wife to a wretched divorcee
From a daughter to a social deportee

I couldn’t be the woman he’d conceptualised
His wife to be. Already fantasizing
He was in heaven itself, spoilt for choice
By the virgins lined up in waiting
For him to pick one or four to be his own
I got picked first, then I got disowned.

I’ve been alone these twenty years
Fading ever more into the background
As time trudges on with heavy treads
My aura fades, my voice has no sound
I tried to talk louder at first to be heard
But the booming voices of the world
Were louder still, my voice was drowned

Now I sit here alone marking time
For when the cosmos sees fit to smile
In a new welcome; in a final decline
I see people but they see me not
They saw me only when I came out
Of the box, against the tide of tradition
Then there was outrage, there was derision

I don’t go out anymore nor do I
Try to be bigger than the box fitted for me
I sit in it quietly, patiently
Lonely oh so lonely … but not really
In all the ways that shouldn’t matter
Im not alone. They all watch me
In all the ways that would make my heart sing
I’m alone, waiting for the final curtain.