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In an alternate reality,
we might’ve found each other.

Then again,
maybe we already have—
through the wavelength,
the careful tension,
the ripple effects
of the cosmos?

Just in silence.

🌌
_________


© Ayisha Rahman, 2025
Ayisha R Jul 12
When your day
is a series of clocks ticking.
Every millisecond, minute, hour—
binary counts—disorganised clicking.

Every heart and head pound
after sips of coffee and energy drinks
high on codes and calories,
pixels, powernaps,
and flickering
imageries.

A mere reflection
of this deadline-driven age,
where waking up like this everyday
is no longer a phase.

Ad hoc palpitations,
stacked one after another
like corrupted lies and files,
until one is renamed:
"dead".

return NotFound();
// Self Not Found

📅
Ironically, wrote this in the midst of deadlines and datelines.

_________


© Ayisha Rahman, 2025
Ayisha R Jul 4
One can either
pouts
or
sprouts.

More often—
sequentially both,
yet vital for one’s
self-growth.

🌱
_________

© Ayisha Rahman, 2025
Ayisha R Jun 28
Too nice,
too play-fair,
yet little did they choose
to know the bruise of her Achilles, heal—
from the hardened ballet soles,
the dandy polished Oxford shoes,
to the leather combat boots.

The bunions remained irreversible,
as she dreaded in changing rooms,
in the open river water Styx?

Not so chill—it’s plantar fasciitis.
Yet they say that she is a goody two-shoes.
Alas, she puts on her kitten heels;
extra studs, extra bling.
No red bottoms.
Chill.

👠
_________

© Ayisha Rahman, 2025
Ayisha R Jun 19
I used to send you
cute stuff over the mail,
buy apology flowers,
queue on Fridays—
on a whim.

I haven’t changed,
just evolved;
like your magician
you once loved.

I no longer visit
the post office,
just like your number
feels like a stranger,
or your voice—
I couldn’t recall.

Till death do us part,
except
I made us part.

Different postcodes.
Different years.
Six years.

No more
tears.

📬
_________

© Ayisha Rahman, 2025
Ayisha R Jun 6
They say
slow burns
are the worst
—yet the best
kind of feelings;
anti-climactic,
yet sporadic.

Blue tick.
Never here,
never there.

Just a cliffhanger,
dangling in hot
luncheon air.

Maybe those
are the best
kind of feelings?

- Ring ring -
⌚️

_________

© Ayisha Rahman, 2025
Ayisha R May 18
Brown picket fence,
crossing borders—barter,
of custom(ary) dowry,
and nikah beyond wali.

Foreign weather,
foreign tongues,
foreign sparks.

Permit—ssable
by nature,
but not
legislature.

Pretty passport, privilege.
Permanent identity—
self-interest,
lineage.

🪪
On guise of love, passports, and circumstances.

_________

© Ayisha Rahman, 2025
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