Shias are kafirs
I always spoke in low, hushed tones, uttered a soft 'No', when they called me a kafir. Because mama taught me that's what Prophet Mohammed preached. Be kind, she would say.
I never told her, how many times I rinsed my mouth with blood before uttering the well-knitted No each time they pushed me aside in a school assembly, calling me a non-believer.
I'm still kind. It's just that my blood is now d-r-y,
The Diva (A Poem by Men For a Woman)
A string, in the process of becoming, takes all the chances, good, bad, ugly, whatsoever;
She is in the pursuit of evolution, for her, learning engulfs the word ‘judgement’, happy because this is the only word that resonates with her process.
Years pass by, and she is still buckled into her own self, still strapped by her charming, bubbly nature—
The only constant that she can afford, she still yearns to evolve herself, not realizing how many sheaths of evolution her life already ensembles.
When she will realize, she will start unfurling herself, and in the process of deconstruction, she will become an identity of identification —
The baby meets her body for the first time
A cloak, as layered as a sky, meets a fine, delicate ballerina in salmon-pink ballet shoes. The half-knit shadow, the sugar-plum fairy twirling in warm white light.
The meeting takes place between the two in the baby room at the Holy Family Hospital. I eavesdrop and hear lifestyle tips exchanged in quiet.
This dark, ghastly guardian speaks to the baby in a low, hushed voice, with baby showing her focus with a yawning chasm.
Tip number one: eat air with a grain of sand for I like to retrace footsteps. Tip number two: drink a hot, simmering pot of vaporous juice as I like to see my veins popping out during the rain.
Tip three: start with soft rompers, rock the hip and trendy and sigh with woollen open backs as I like to believe I have eclectic tastes. Don’t yell, cry like the ocean waves hitting the shore.
But loudly. Just mark your presence. I know you are currently in economic crisis for definitions and words. Let me share the basics: Air is a hard-hitting slap of the wind, rain is a nature’s pat.
Waves are relentless curves in motion. That’s it for today. I shall meet you more often now that you’re with me. In me, Ha-ha. Let’s doze off now.
Fizza Abbas is a Freelance Content Writer based in Karachi, Pakistan. She is fond of poetry and music. Her works have been published on quite a few platforms including Poetry Village and Poetry Pacific.