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I am no hero

by Ayesha

I cannot recall what the world looked like this morning Cloudy ache in my abdomen, eyes were mildly burning On the root of the tongue, a hint of barely-contained panic Fizza was waiting outside, and I was counting out tasks like an adult Analgesic tablet, water bottle, glasses, student ID, shoes Two seconds in the mirror, I smiled at my pretty face Then Headache, cat fur in my upper respiratory tract (but I nuzzled him ever the closer) Meow, weow, woew, mow Mother has the world running with her mere presence Her footsteps blow life into my room When I am sleeping, she touches my face Hesitantly. Yesterday, it was almost upto my neck I was hyperventilating. The textbooks lay With a sober definiteness - my world Never collapsed loudly. (Perhaps that one time When Aqsa died. Black hand-sewn scarf Tight around her head. I used to think that Death was overrated. That the grief of death was overrated. Wailing women, red roses, and the house Like an empty overturned cup It was so strange. We children got bored and played on the street). The day before yesterday, it was only upto my knees I was zoning out while studying Two days before yesterday, my stomach hurt so bad I whimpered and slept for hours It was... seeping in, an insignificant stray shadow Like the simple turning of a day I thought nothing of it. My world never collapsed loudly. In increments, small bubbles of silence Like when your ear pops And sound is new for a few moments When father laughs with my mother And shows her silly Facebook reels When mother sweet-talks the cats When Faizan is happy It splashes at the brims And I want to run far far away. Far underwater cities, planets with subdued lights Air so thick you could lean into it This morning, when the examination hall was ripe with tension I yawned about twenty times in ten minutes. I almost laughed out loud, because I was giddy. Old wooden bench was pressing painfully into my hips Like three years ago, when I cried in MCAT And the world was still intact. What battles have I fought that could heal it Soothe it. Ever malignant, it claws its way out Taps my foot, then rises, then falls, then bends its indolent back And slouches away. Mud on my hands from hours of gardening Lest I should scream. Dabs of lipstick can be used as blush. (Children are wet cement. Handprints, Footprints, nameless knick knacks Carried over by the winds). I like to look at my reflection in the sidemirror of the car The city in the background Going away away... Outside, grey morning traffic was yelling. Fizza drove as I flipped through the textbooks, Last minute revision of things we'd never heard of before We were laughing at ourselves. It was hiding in the crevices of my nails. I don't think I looked up at the sky even once What colour was it? I think mother's dress was green When she kissed me good luck before leaving But I do not remember. I forget things. Even as they cling to me, I forget them.
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Written by
Ayesha
21 / F / Pakistan
For You?
Written by
Ayesha
21 / F / Pakistan
Published
Feb 7
Time
5m
Notes

08.02.2026

 

Much has changed in my style. Idk why. My poems always lacked firm structure, but lately they seem to be scattering. They always dissolve into passages of spontaneous recollections, all seemingly disconnected. Senseless, without rhythm, moody. I do not fight it. Let it say whatever it wishes. I write for no one.

Tags
#childhood
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