Pakistan

O beloved country of mine

Where is the peace you promised?

I sliced an empire in half for you

I left my friends and marched off for you

I lost one, I lost it all for you

Do you even care?

O beloved country of mine

Where is the unity you promised?

I fought in four wars for you

I slept with an empty stomach for you

I broke my back in the fields for you?

Are you even listening?

O beloved country of mine

Where are the opportunities you promised?

I stayed when generals ruled, for you

I stayed when famine fell, for you

I stayed when the country split in two, for you

Was it all a mistake?

O beloved country of mine

Today I see you in flames

Today I see your streets filled, not with flowers but with rage

Today I see death and misery and hatred everywhere

Is there any hope left?

O beloved country of mine

I will not let you perish

My heart is heavy but you are all I cherish

I still love your every corner, every street

I still love your rivers, your peaks

I still love your people, and every inch of your land beneath my feet

Promise that you’ll live on for me

Home..

The beauty of suggestion lies in the hints it alludes to as the mind wrestles with it’s wistful mistress – creativity.

Pehn-nay ki tameez honi chaheay; it’s not what you wear it’s how you wear it. And yet what is ‘it’?

In pardes I have worn skinny jeans, pleated khakis, baggy harem pants, cut offs and throwaways, scoop ins and flap outs, dresses of lace, of sheer soft grace but I have never felt as womanly, as elegant, as complete within my form as I have when wearing our much-maligned shalwar kameez. Yes, I too have complained about how only a man could’ve come up with such a prison for a woman, guzz upon guzz of cloth cut, folded, tweaked and moulded by the tiresome kapray, lace and rung waalay, and finally the formidable “master sahib”.

But I am tired of wearing “practical” clothes which were designed primarily for men, altered to placate women by flashing flesh. The elegance of a subtly draped dupatta, the dance of a breezily flowing kameez and the proceeds of a flouncy shalwar sing the song of ada; for the gulaab is far more amorous than the rose.

Somalia - Never mind

black faces
white tongues
the smell of sea water
taunts with sarcasm
drink me

oh somalia
im sorry i couldnt be there for you
but while you were trying to to get your daughter
to drink her urine
a singer died
while your children
were falling from the tree of life
scattered bushels of rotten fruit
some whiter children were shot

oh somalia
only if your beautiful wasnt so black
only if you were
gaza or
libya or
bahrain or
egypt or
norway or
england or
japan or
america
or the moon
i would mention you in a poem

only if you had
oil or
poppy or
timber or
rubber or
white people
i would mention you in my prayers

oh somalia
only if your beautiful wasnt so black
the world has grown accustom to watching you die
since i was a child
somalia - synonymous with suffering
african meant adversity
an african struggling was like
a fish swimming
a dog barking
somalia meant starvation

nevermind the magic in your poetry
or
the glowing saints rising from your lands like a thousand moons

nevermind the beauty of your beaches
or
the utter perfection in the hips of your women

oh somalia
only if you didnt wear the resemblance of eve
like an ornate funeral shroud
we wouldnt see you as our sin
and avert our gazes
in shame
turn our faces
to blame
only if your lack of the worldy
didnt remind us
of our lack of the other-worldly
perhaps then we would mention you

oh somalia
only if your beautiful wasnt so black

credits