Dream

by | Jun 3, 2024 | Poetry

her toes tease the pull my feet lay idle on.
i am drawn by almond clefts that claim eyes,
saw a scene i can’t recall.

i want to touch her, is she soft?
or are her fingertips calloused with the earth’s dirt she doesn’t bother shed?

i crouch to her level, fumbling for a dialogue that can gauge her attention,
undivided at the skies instead.

i wonder then perhaps, does she find me beautiful?
she doesn’t hold a gaze to my face,
maybe I am unimpressive then

my hand grapples a weight latched to my chest,
but is catching cloth that clings to trembling skin.

i am terrified of you,
till dainty fingers lace themselves around mine.

i want to hold you,
i want you to like me,
we can’t.

then i wake and she’s gone,
left only at the pit of my chest like residual tar,
because she wasn’t meant to be here.

she was destined for the beautiful part of a daydream.

this poem captures a moment in a dream where i met my younger self. i found that i admired her but she was indifferent toward me. the more we gained proximity, the more detached she became. it’s a readmiration for myself, when i was so unapologetically me – because i didn’t know what else to be.

Conversation

Conversation

by | Jun 3, 2024 | Prose

the far corner of an extravagant house sits a round table for four, but with three guests today, they pull out a few extra chairs. placed on a straw mat, a ceramic plate of Sindhi curry and rice; my favourite. i pick at it with a fork, until the conversation piques my interest.

UNCLE
…did you ever wonder why is it that nails and hair seem to grow but our bodies cease to after a point?

it’s an analogy for what he further attempts to explain are the mysteries of cancer cells, i gather.

UNCLE
as cells grow, get sick, and die, they transfer information to the next cell. like tan on skin sheds over time through the regrowth of cells, organ cells perish too, but keep growing and transferring information to the next cell. yet, if a sick cell dies, it transfers to the next cell information that it is sick, and so the new cell grows to be sick as well. which is why cancer cells grow.

there is a silent cheer across the table at his revelation—slightly fallen jaws with no noise.

UNCLE
…to prevent that growth, scientists are attempting to intercept that information passage. claims are even made that meditation can access that space – but it is all speculation.

talk about cancer arises from the inevitable conversation of Aunty’s current state, and her body’s refusal of chemotherapy. when the word is mentioned, her husband questions,

 

 

HUSBAND
what is chemotherapy?

UNCLE
the treatment undergone for those who are diagnosed with cancer.

HUSBAND
just like my wife.

UNCLE
yes.

i find the conversation timidly fascinating, a saddening revel in the decay of human life. at a junction, as i tune back in, uncle mentions,

[which I immediately write down]

UNCLE
if you conquer the brain, then you are God.

he tells us more, more about medicine, more about the vitality of a second opinion and real accounts of its failures. how the heart remembers to beat – after being removed, stopped, and then performed open heart surgery on. i’m fastened to my chair, even when my mother’s friend offers me escape. once again, at the mention of chemotherapy, almost as if the heart can forget, her father asks,

HUSBAND
what is chemotherapy?

patiently, they explain.

Letter On Her Back

by | Apr 1, 2023 | Poetry

in a moment such as this, i entertain a fleeting thought
so dense that i am overwhelmed.
where she asks me to hold her to sleep, and i think i could quite simply die here and not mind it at all.

i wonder why i’d think such a thing, but it’s not a thought to dishearten;
it’s an instance of peace so grand i could settle in it,
limit morality for its suspension.

but she asked me to write on her back,
so i began with this thought at the base of my tongue,
and drew her a letter on her back.

she asks me, ‘are you really writing something?’
i affirm, ‘yes.’

she asks me what it is.
i tell her I’m writing her a letter
but when she wants to hear it i refuse.
i know i’ll confess it to her one day,
but today i’d like it to stay on her skin.