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 =)

Inheritance

They were gathered around post Christmas dinner, discussing things of the past when someone suddenly said, "I'm not so sure about these genes things. For example, who inherited our Grandfather's light eyes?" And my Father smiles, "Well, my daughter of course..."

Aphasia

Words. They float up, free from the connections that bind them. Like a pond with large lily pads on the surface, you look beneath, expecting to see each fine leaf attached to a long thread-like stalk, and roots further down. But no, the leaves float, devoid of the stalks that should hold them. The water is clear and settled as the muddy substratum is calm. Then, she wonders, where are their stalks? How can all these words be floating up, with no meaning attached, without bringing an image to the mind's eye, without any semantic association? She gestures that her feet are turning cold & that she's feeling queasy. 'Fear', she would call it, if she could only remember the word.

Author's Note: If you'd like to know more about Apasia, try this link or this one.

Strained Conversations

"How have you been?"
"Super busy, the usual"
"Well, work is the drug", he sighs truthfully, "Second only to love."
"Ok. I have work, and you have love. So, we're even."
Wicked laughter, followed by, "No. I have both, I'm blessed"
"Truly, you are" I confess.