i often feel like hollow light. If you
were to touch me, there would be
nothing but a hand passing through
a few swirling luminescent particles—
i am a ghost pretending to be human.
i admit that this is hard for me to say–
writing without wrapping words
in warmth is unsafe, risk-laden; my
fingers freeze up, unmoving,
suddenly unknowing. there are
a few moments each day when i lose
all my speech, and five, ten, fifteen
years of learning how to hold myself
together with shaky hands vanish,
swallowed like lifeboats sinking. i
would like to tell the truths buried in
my stomach—like cutting open the sky
and watching all the stars fall through
torn fabric—but each time my
words fail me, and so I will never call
myself a poet. perhaps one of the
most difficult things is writing
without metaphors—i can’t make
fear or pain or the shaky breaths
that happen after you’ve cried for too
long sound soft or lovely or like deep
ocean tremors, and now i am no longer
an artist, i am just the raw, bare soul
of a person who never quite got the
hang of stability. still i am attempting
to decipher how all these people
keep their feet on the ground, so if
you find anything for me to saw the
wings growing from my ankles off with,
let me know.

it was the first time i'd ever been in the passenger seat
with the music blaring next to me
your eyes never left the road
mine never left you
i felt that wind run through my hair
and a chill went down my spine
five years later, and we still have the same favorite songs
you sing the notes deeper than i do
but we have a broken sort of melody going
you're driving eighty miles an hour on a road
crowded with people; not fit for drivers like you
but i wasn't afraid for my life
i look over and smile-
if we die right now, i wouldn't mind
you say,
if we die right now, i'd be more than just fine
and we know it's true
five years later
and i still love you.

your cheeks blush
a light red, a dark pink
and i think to myself
maybe it's time
that i wash off the
oppression from your skin
the colonial violence
and the crimes against humanity
your eyes are a certain kind
of blue that i always
associated with privilege and pain
but maybe there's more to them
the ocean under the moon
the poppies mid-june
you burn under the sun
but maybe that isn't a punishment from God
instead a blessing from the
God of Sun who loves you
so much that She can't help but
kiss you just a little too long
your white skin speaks
of your history with your all too obvious
scars and bruises that shine
(you couldn't ever see mine)
maybe they are not from the wars you started
but the ones you fought
protecting yourself from your
own demons
while you button your shirt,
i see the light shadow of blonde
clean-shaven, button-up in a suit
white men with power over me
white men who want to hurt me
i am the enemy, i think.
he is the enemy, i think.
they are the enemy, i think.
or maybe-
maybe he is the midnights turned morning
the coffee and the cream cheese
the husband
the father
the start of a revolution
colored light brown, dark white
the lineage that is not of oppressors
the lineage that is not of the oppressed
the lineage
that is us-
survivors, fighters, or simply-
just two kids in love.

jaan ** yaar tum meri
i was on the floor
brushing away the
broken pieces and remains
of who i was and the
future i had
and you were there
covered in all the words
i wish i'd never said
out of which perhaps
the one that burnt the
most was
i love you
people in love don't
hurt each other like
this and i shouldn't
have loved you if
it meant hurting you
and after every fight
every broken bone
you held me and whispered
jaan ** tum meri*
you are my life
and like waves crashing
at the shoreline
i felt like
you had touched me in
a way that changed
me forever

i walked in the rain
a hoodie biked by me
he smelt like you.

it made me wonder
of all the moments
i never witnessed
you getting ready
for our first date
trying on different outfits
rehearsing lines
nervous fingers
trembling hands
i wonder how many
times you tried so
hard to find a way
to my heart and now
that i'm looking
around me i realize
just how special you
were because you always
made an effort and tried
your best and your best
was the best.

these boys they don't
understand what it
means to commit to a woman
to treat her right
to be the kind of guy
to whom they'd want to be a wife
these boys they're just boys
with no hint of being a man
and i don't know if i can ever
settle for them after
everything we've been through.

castles to castles.
gold to gold.
with you, i had wanted
to grow old.

i wish i had caught a glimpse
of everything you had invested
and all the effort you made
to put a smile on my face.

ashes to ashes
dust to dust.
i'm all alone now
and i really miss us.

on a plane going back
to a place not called home
but i have found myself
calling for you on its streets
and this time recovery
looks less like broken phone calls
and momentary goodbyes but
broken ribs and cracked skulls
i swore i heard the raven crackle
in pain of what was and what never
would be i guess what i'm saying
is that it wasn't supposed to end this
way but an australian girl told me
that love, mate, love it comes and goes
and as we stood in grand central station
amongst the hellos and deathly goodbyes
i realized she was right

look up-
there's the ceiling
with its memories
of people passing
under and through
switching trains
exchanging hearts
if you close your eyes
you can hear the goodbyes
and the whistle of
the train as it puffs away
and beyond sight
there is so much beyond
sight and i'm running
up and down the stairs
here at grand central
station looking for
someone to hold my heart
maybe love was on the train
that just drove away
or maybe i'm just a little early
i check my watch
and the grandfather clock
dings.
i am not alone, i am with
a friend and so many strangers
and my friend looks at
me and says 'are you ready?'
i don't know if i am ready
i like being in a place of goodbyes
but she says to me that
goodbyes are only the start of
a hello and i guess she is right
but i can't help but think
if you were here with me
holding my hand
watching lovers part and
mothers cry
how wonderful it would be
to be the ones who have gained,
not lost-
watching others say goodbye
while we're just beginning
to say hello.

i thought you were the first; not the only. i thought being in love with you was how dating was supposed to work. i thought you felt this way about everyone you went on a date with. saying i love you a month into knowing each other, for me, was "normal". i thought love came and went with everyone with whom time was spent.

this wasn't the case.

i'm walking down the street with this new boy next to me and internally i'm groaning. he's rich as heck and sure he's not the best looking but he seems ok. he isn't boring but i'm so bored. he isn't annoying but i'm so annoyed. i don't want to be here, in a tesla in sunny california. i feel nothing for him and i don't want his lips on mine. his perfume smells good but i don't want him on my skin. i don't want him.

i don't want him.

he calls me in the middle of the night and asks if i want to go on an adventure. i love adventures. i love late nights under the stars when nothing is holding you back. i love being alive and feeling like life isn't over just yet. i tell him i'm tired. i go to bed. i sleep. i don't want to have an adventure with him because it feels forced and unnatural. i don't want to dance in the rain or smoke under the falling leaves. i don't want to hold his hand or talk to him about philosophy.

i don't love him.

i thought i'd fall in love with him or the other him or the one after him but heck, i'm not falling in love at all. these are just bodies with beautiful souls that do not connect to mine. perhaps i haven't given them the space to touch my heart, spirit, and mind. or perhaps me and you were a one-off. maybe you were the one for me. the one that got away. i could see myself marrying you. i always knew i could raise daughters, but with you, i could see myself raising a son.

where do i go from here?

when i think of home i think of you standing by the bed with your pajama pants on. i think of my curly hair and bare legs. i think of your oversized shirts and my pink tanktop. i think of the mundane things that felt like heaven. home is your new haircut. home is your old shoes. home is laying in your lap. home is you.

he tells me he'll buy me a white house
with a picket fence and i laugh because
it sounds so absurd to me
why would anyone want to live in
this plastic world of despair
i mean, maybe i'm judging it too hard
but i just can't see myself
driving a mini-van with two kids
crying in the backseat complaining
and calling me "mom" as if they their
mother-tongue was not Urdu
i can't do soccer games and ballet lessons
or wait every night at 8PM to have a
family dinner
i am not anyone's wife in an apron
and there is nothing wrong with choosing
the american dream
just that its a nightmare for me
i want to finger paint the house a
million shades of rainbow
i want to tie a braid in my hair
and lie under the sun
let it kiss me until i'm brown
and free.
i want my children to blast
bollywood and dance with me
no choreography, just love
i want a husband who falls in love
with my henna covered hands and
the way i smell of the sea
i can't see myself settling to a world
where everything looks just the same
or a man who loves me in a clean,
innocent way
i know this sounds stupid and i'm not
one for crazy romance but
laughing during *** and screaming during fights
is something that feels more than alright
i like the edge and the stability in knowing
that you're not going anywhere, we're going
everywhere
i want my children to climb on their father's back
and tickle him until he cries
i want them to paint his nails
and tie his hair in little ponytails
i want them to go to the beach and not worry
about getting sand in between their toes
i want them to wake up in the morning
with their messy hair and lopsided smiles
i want them to run around the house
the way their parents did
chasing each other only to fall
into each other's arms.