 I wonder if I’ll ever see it again,
run through its grass swim in its water prepare its soil as if to say, life will be given the chance I never did understand when I looked up to hear Them speaking of Home. what it meant why it mattered who for. I thought it was simple, We’re here. by the park, down the road, a house at the end of the street. the looks and the jokes and all the small things weren’t enough to let Me know until it felt like it was too late no turning back like a loose tooth one apple too far, done. 10 years old in history class “draw your family tree” who was I to know before britishness before englistan We had roots in the land Kashmir. I wish I could say I'm wiser now I wish I could say I know everything it took. Who walked and Who ran and Who stood. how do you plan for departure- so loud and so big and so red? scramble for records never made and lost words never said? Father before Father before Father before no Mother before Mother before Mother before no too far for even My arms too much for even art I never did learn how to swim; no, I never did learn how to draw. We made homes away from homes, We made homes in the Lanckashmir. a home in the hills and stars a home between fogs and cars a home in the roads and rivers a home between suns and silvers a home away from home away from home yes, a way a life a wonder I wonder if I’ll ever see it again, just once… this time with my eyes open we brought poetry to the club
a business of blues dance dance in the box sweet friends and sweet tunes i loved your polka dot smile how we always held hands to run 7 or 11 or any afternoon a silver gunshot in a library bar a circling of pretty people a spitting of stars shooting smoke from the kitchen to the old boys in blue burning orange bright red from the booth to the crew charlie charlie and the other the floors the beds the window ledge the boys the girls the writing room the pink power suit the wistful hue midnight to morning a best friend in you so many half poems about you
so many half poems about us you with your half heartedness you with half a heart never enough to scream or shout about never enough to kiss or rush about half a heart half a love half a something half a was i don’t do maths and i don’t do halves when the sea kisses the sun
when the sun kisses the sky when the sky kisses the birds when the birds fly this is not fiction, this is not good and evil this is only everything in between this is blankets on streets this is freedom of speech this is welfare cuts this is the big freeze this is the rising sea this is anonymity. this is border control this is boredom for all this is square-eyes and tin hats this is some lives and fight back this is picket-fence and barb-wire this is look, don’t touch. this is my right no it’s not this is my right no it’s not this is my right, no means no. sit with me give me your hand, somewhere down the line we are neighbours we are teachers and traders, we are bread and shoe makers, we are pilots and sailors, we are farmers and sheepdogs, we are sheep with dogs, dogs with no owners cuts with no corners darling, just hold her, lend him your shoulder. you see, we see, bodies and brains like one or other some 2d brother oh brother, oh brother, when will we recover? sit with me give me your hand, a friend once told me even stars fall without wings! but they said to us, you are made of clay and dust! i ask, is this not the dust from which stars are formed? is this not the clay from the earth we are born? is this not the earth which holds the blue sea? is this not the sea which kisses the gold sun? sun kissed skies and penciled horizons your moon is my moon my stars are your stars somewhere down the line we are neighbours somewhere down the line something saved us;
i said to call me when you wanna be friends;
you haven’t called yet. you move now like you never loved it, you move now like i never changed you. you pack your bags now for a temporary home, you pack your bags now like we don’t all know. you moved to the heat to the other end of earth, you moved to play pretend, what was it all worth? enjoy your salad, make a bet, another girl, another sweat. i stopped caring a long time ago, but you kept getting faded, and making a show. my name stays in your mouth, say, "cinnamon challenge" choking, burning, how will you manage? you cry to our friends, smoking under the stars, making house parties search parties, does she know who you are? i promised myself that last piece was the last, but you continue your bullshit, i continue my craft. it’s getting old now, it’s getting cold now, december seems to work that way. how many 1st of decembers til we forget? the last time i wore this dress, i was wrapped in your arms, you were wrapped in my legs, we fell asleep with the tv on. how many rights make a wrong? fresh skin took time, but i work through the motions, can't seem to skip a step, complete devotion. walked the tight-rope, scaled the high-rise, got up on over you, sweet surprise. you still run when i appear, but now it’s different, i’m indifferent, you’re in limbo. i said to call me when you wanna be friends, but you vomit and spit invisible ink, “i’m not over it” so i wish you well, like i always have. still, an olive, a tree, a branch. we lived it.
that's the thing. we moved from our house to our house, and only one is our's now. we rode in backseats and backstreets, and they all had magic carpets. we stood in worship and war-zone, and ripened through both, and now it's different. he used to be her best friend, and now he treats her criminal. the big boys were never friends at all, the bond was always minimal. the other boys, yeah, it was jokes. the girls, they did the daily. a queen and an apprentice, the other was kinda shaky... but she writes now. she always did. but she's good now. she always was. she stole her brother's cds and someone's walkman, she doesn't remember who's, but she remembers it worked man. alicia keys and b2k, 20 minutes before bismillah and alif, bay, pay. british bulldog princess, grazed knee under chiffon dress. superstar in the playground, but don't ask her to sing for choir. she liked the chaos, boys' football, and walking on wires. she was confident. artist, performer, detective. a doctor, and then a dentist. there was no limit to anything; she'd beat you in everything. almost. do you see it? do you see it now? log-wood fires screaming, "this is my park!" holographic reeboks, you don't know who we are. that's my blood on the tarmac, that's my spit on the floor, "fuck you, and your space raiders!" we're not friends anymore. i heard she's got a baby now, and so has she. i don't know where the rest are, don't ask me. she's got a lot to say, she always has. loud-mouthed, small-hipped, skinny bitch with a decent kick. fast forward from 2000s, these are the naughties, no teas, no tea, but they think they know me. watch my hands dance interpret and my lips do the walking. you speak about me. about me, never to me, even when we're talking. pick your battles, win your scabs. this isn't school, this isn't pop, this is art and design. we're all failures, we are one of a kind. unplanned, a warm truth, from the blue-
a hand appeared. your hand appeared. a diy volcano, but also a rainbow. a bird, a learning curve. this is us: no madness, no frills. equally chosen and choosing. a moment to catch myself, a moment of catching myself. in the act, red handed. like out of body darling, are you sure? befriending romance. enemy 365. 301, to be exact. i’m not one for maths, but i’m studying the height at which you fell, the degree at which you turned back. hello shall we try this again? introduce ourselves. sorry, re- only first names this time, let’s keep it informal. it’s all in the writing for me, i say. in the writing, not the words. in the meaning, in the learnt, in the truth, all in turns. we know each other already but my growth game reached graduate, and then some. you didn’t stick around to see the rest but i’ll catch you up. one of us left, i’m still trying to figure out if it was me or you. the first time, i let my mouth hoard the beehive and my tongue did the bleeding. listen, you taught me things, mostly post living and breaking. skip to now- Godly assurance. equally chosen and choosing. i look down and realise i have half a foot past the starting line. edged in, no thought or purpose and there you greet me again, old friend. if the only time
you manage to utter my name is after you've had a drink maybe you shouldn't be talking about me anymore. For: twin. chummy. silly pug.
brother. friend. Jhadder. you are the most. God speaks to you through people, He puts a light in their eyes. Rich in soul, full exposure, but behind translucent windows. These are the people you meet in heaven. These people bring you lessons, these people bring you love, these people bring you both. These people are like poetry, heavy breathing hearts, beating rhythms of life. These are the people you want to share your after with- after love, after heartbreak, after dinner, after eight, after party, afterwards, after life, ever after. These people remind you, you are human, and that is enough. Make you feel more than human, in sync with God’s touch. We, are the similes, the metaphors, the alliteration, abbreviation, punctuation, capitalisation, of God’s spoken word. We collide, and touch fingers, open our curtains every morning. Some nights we never really draw them in. We are, speech bubbles, monologues, sometimes silent movies. We, are art, when we let it be. We, are meat masses, meat matters, floating through space. We, are sound waves, from the first floor of heaven, to the centre of the Earth. We, are extraordinary beings, with a tendency to forget. We are the laughter at 4am that strings stars in the sky, We are the tears of every mother and father given their first miracle, We are the pen-marks on the left hand of every writer, We are the second chance telling you to love again, We are the doing, being, breathing, beating, happening. We make war with our monsters and talk at our reflections, We write love-notes inside our eyelids and speak prayers in our sighs, We, are the similes, the metaphors, the alliteration, abbreviation, punctuation, capitalisation of God’s spoken word. When we find each other, we know. We know. To hold on, to be true, to be present. Nothing is effort. Souls from heaven. We know, everything we ever need is already inside of us. We know, we just have to be willing to open the book. We are God’s spoken word. "Thalaya"
my foreign name. silent, "h" like history his story is her story and you don’t even wanna pick up the book. history like family, birthed and hereditary. my foreign name on your native tongue holding heavy phonetics you weren’t taught to pronounce in school. this alphabet so Alien so Bold so Cutting so Deeply Exotic. Finds Greatness Hidden Inside Jaded Kashmiri Legacies. you will learn more about culture in the womb than you will in the classroom. habits of your Abu’s sweet tooth, Grandmother’s Mother and samosa pastry and glue. you will hear your mother sing stories of her youth, nurturing nature, mothering jasmine, sunflowers, and the heaven beneath her feet. lullabies in Urdu, Punjabi and English too. prayers in Arabic, supplication to your Lord. you have 20 years lived now, and living your 21st, and She, your Mother remains your best teacher through it all, her broken English so many years ago laid the bricks that made this house a home. you acknowledge you wouldn’t know warmth so well, or a fridge so full, if it wasn’t for your Father. your Father. Abu. Dad. a sweet and sharp mix of dry humour, burrowed brows and one too many cups of chai. living my 21st, but my 1st began when my culture was cultivated before i left my Mother’s belly, and now i see, the world outside isn’t as welcoming. stop harvesting your heart brown girl, walk in the direction of love. this space is yours too, brown has always been beautiful. before it was bottled, packaged and sold for a price. before it was for blonde haired, blue eyed, bronzed becky. brown has always been beautiful. don’t hold your tongue in letting them know. live truly, live unapologetically, live absolute. this space is yours too. give it up, give it all,
drop the weight, feel the fall, loosen your shoulders, unclench your fists, change your perspective, sink into this- Life, is a melting pot, of moments and breaths and smiles and tears, and dust particles and shooting stars and burnt tongues and broken hearts and grazed knees and coffee stains, and that one person who stays, when nothing else remains. that tuesday night- home cooked meal, trying to replicate your mother’s feel. But she prays with those hands, and you write wars, she speaks of open hearts, and you close doors. you sit inside with all the lights turned off, there’s a fire behind your walls, but your windows are locked. you tell me you understand, you probably do- knot, in my throat when i look at you. i know you mean well, you always have, but that seed of fear is now a plant. and it settles… inside your bones, Tell me you feel it, when the blood turns to stone, Tell me you feel it, when the night turns so cold, blood turns to stone, and living gets old- wounds- open- neck to an esophagus, one million thoughts and your body going backwards. Disillusioned. Dissociated. Disconnected. mind like an indoor swimming pool- restless. Caution: slippery surface. Caution: mind the step. Caution: don’t trip. “We are going to go around the room and introduce ourselves. Why don’t you tell us something about you?” “Me?” I am, I am… I am, Too feel too much, to think too much, to be Haunting myself, my mind, my shadow left and right, Always curious, always wondering, always Learning to be. student of life, up all night, And up all day. pen and paper kisses, Yesterday’s checklist, today’s, ‘to-do’ And, forever me. Always you. you exchange laughter lines for battle scars and realise receipts are non-refundable when you’re selling to yourself, so you hide faulty parts up on the top-shelf. Mornings become mournings, and Days off become days off. working for the sake of working. waiting on: those extra hours, that graveyard shift, family dinners at 6, that pay slip. and in the midst of it all, not quite sure when, you realise: old habits die hard, or they don’t die at all, drop the weight, feel the fall. |
