Gratitude

I'd like to thank the trees, for being my company when I had none. And the leaves, for being my friends. And the sun for shining just a little longer, till I saw the gorgeous dragonfly, just above my head.

And I thank the weeds for coming home with me, "Thank you for sticking by", I whisper, pulling them from the laces of my shoes.

An Experiment, in Winter

I've watched the months as they've passed; slowly slipping cotton silk. And all the birds in the trees, damp songs singing. "Winter hasn't left yet", they're cooing, canoodling, cuddling their eggs till it's warmer. And behind shuttered glass, humans, in their warm woolly winterwear, warming themselves by a kindly fire. Above my left ear, the soft white wind rustles the trees, snow begins to peters off leaves; and freshly fallen it turns to muck beneath the soles of my feet.

The Part of You That Is Me

When there was some hope in the universe
When there is some light
I couldn't have been more wrong
And you couldn't have been more right

"My heart must be *this* tiny", she said, holding her fingers a centimetre or two apart.

Double Bed

When two people get married or cohabitate, or even spend the night together; how do they decide who takes which side of the bed? I never figured out how my parents chose and I've been wondering ever since. 

Bitter

Like the smell of coffee, residual memories cling to everything and everyone; faint reminders of all the things we're trying to forget.

Inane

I'm distracted from scrutinising the lines on my face by the pigeon outside our bathroom window. He watches me strangely, cocking his head this way and that, examining my dental hygiene routine with his discerning eyes.

And then finally, he asks:
What are you doing?

I'm brushing my teeth, it's something we do.

He's unimpressed:
Why?

Well, we like to keep clean.

That's rubbish, he smirks and leaves me to wonder if he was talking about social constructs or...

Epilogue

Shy strains of morning, I mistake the milk swirling into my coffee for the blood that rushes your veins and I think for a moment that I might miss you, I just might. And yet dawn is hours away; three and a half to be precise.

Watching the patterns the tears made as they ran down her cheeks, the little tin soldier thought about how, even in her sadness, the little doll was so pretty.

Awkward

Pretty dresses hang in a shop window, and people duck in as it begins to pour. The girl in the dressing room emerges to a room full of spectators, and blushes the shade of her dress. Then quickly she turns to the nearest woman and begs, "Would you zip me up, please?"

Where I’m From

I am from the kitchen
From the sweet smell of carrot cake
From my mother's perfect buter curls
From the worst sense of humour on earth
And from being denied brinjal and chane ka atta, am I

I am from scrathes and itches and marks of volition
I am from forests of trees and spiders and birds and light
I am from roads, or rather the sides of them; I am the hours spent waiting to cross, I am the fear of crossing

I am the daughter of confusion, betrayal and willpower
From the dust of bookshelves, the fur of dogs and goofy pants that weren't mine, I am
I am from dicipline and learning not to mess with dust, not to play with dogs and not to goof around with other people's pants

I am from blood and pus
I am from cotton and cloth
From 3 baths a day, while we played with tea cups,
I had 40 tiny ones, and a bathtub
I am from topical steriods

--
This is after a poem by George Ella Lyon. That I discovered from Amna Ahmad's blog, when I was on Natasha Badhwar's blog. I'd like to know where you're from too =)