by Noor Unnahar
Copyright © 2017, 2018 by Noor Unnahar
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Clarkson Potter/Publishers, an imprint of the Crown Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York. Originally published by CreateSpace, Scotts Valley, California, in 2017.
crownpublishing.com
clarksonpotter.com
CLARKSON POTTER is a trademark and POTTER with colophon is a registered trademark of Penguin Random House LLC.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.
ISBN 9780525576013
Ebook ISBN 9780525576020
Cover design by Danielle Deschenes
Illustrations by Noor Unnahar
v5.2
prh
for
Amma Jaan and Areeba
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Contents
Epigraph
yesterday—i was the moon
i am building
{shams un-nisa}
i am the rage
i want stars, strength, and balance in my soul
to the person who
{the golden trio}
learn to lose
i envy the sun
in this human skin
people leave
wishlist
you are
{namaz}
{you are a miracle}
it only takes
when you fall
{bilingual}
you’ll have to learn
{haunted houses without ghosts}
{nomads}
like the anger of fire
{too afraid}
grow
{my favorite metropolis}
how easy it is
isn’t it
you look like a museum to me
{when women become the skies}
my dreams now look like spears
{flags}
{when an artist falls in love}
{difficulty}
history
{the sky & i}
{survival}
you’re the moon
{forgiveness}
isn’t it absolutely
{hijab}
it’s okay
{change}
my bones carry
bravery was the lullaby
{a work in progress}
{teaching survival to my heart}
art doesn’t ask
the most beautiful thing in this world isn’t made
the price of leaving
{accent}
{creating the balance}
{a thank you note to the universe}
home murmurs
when everything comes crashing down
wear your past with grace
{it was art}
falling in love with cities is risky
{azeez aurton — dear women}
some mornings
do not worry
{nikah}
{the artists and their art}
broken homes produce
distance becomes
someday
{heartbreak}
{before being nice}
sadness
{welcoming defeat}
{women of my family}
when ache arrives
how dare you call
you had a face
i fled
{absence}
strong
i am fighting
no fire
{the color of whispers}
{future}
be kind
metal clashing with fire
you said you would stay forever
darling
{family name}
with this thunder in your heart
i go to a war against words
{a promise}
the kind people
{wanderlust}
confidence is
{a writer’s remedy}
who would have thought
i am learning
accept change
{freedom}
{the struggling artist}
a bolt of lightning
{broken family}
what if we started naming heartbreaks after
my heart has become a silent neighborhood
with every sunset
every single dream you’ve pushed into
survival is not beautiful
i roam around in nameless alleys
i can fix a lot of things
i am growing flowers
{noor}
{author’s note}
khatam shud
“How long,” they say, “how long, O cruel nation,
Will you stand, to move the world, on a child’s heart,—
Stifle down with a mailed heel its palpitation,
And tread onward to your throne amid the mart?
Our blood splashes upward, O our tyrants,
And your purple shows your path;
But the child’s sob curseth deeper in the silence
Than the strong man in his wrath!”
{Elizabeth Barrett Browning, “The Cry of the Children”}
yesterday—i was the moon
today—just an eclipse
something in me travels; some days it’s to
the dark
some days it’s to
the light
i am building
a house
where the floor is
made up of strength
where the walls are
crafted of ambition
where the roof is
a masterpiece of forgiveness
i am building
myself
my mother’s name
translates into
the sun of the women
she named me
noor unnahar
light of the day
i shine when i want to
i burn when i have to
the sun named me light; i know
how to dwell in the sky
with eclipses and stars
{shams un-nisa}
i am the rage
left unspoken
unheard
unfortunately
by the women before me
so i write a lot and speak
a little firmly
giving life to the words that never
made it out of their mouths
i want stars, strength, and balance in my soul
it’s been a while since they were last
together in me
to the person who
will want to fall in love with me
i have been a sky all my life
full of life and light and anger
if you’re not coming with
thunderstorms; do not come
at all
nothing teaches better
than this trio
the fears, the tears, the years
{the golden trio}
learn to lose
and
it will teach you how
winning works
i envy the sun
that shines at your side
of the world; everything
looks brighter wh
en
two of you rise
in this human skin
i am half war
half peace
people leave
because
unlike matter
that has firm, solid, strong
molecules
people are made up of
air, fire, earth and water
that change shapes
that keep moving
that cannot stop
so let them go
and let them be
the things they want
the shapes they like
because
in the end
you too will grow
into something
entirely new
so let them go
wishlist:
tremendous courage
the power of forgiveness
strength in abundance
an unlimited supply of kindness
you are
the peace after wars
the calm after storms
and everything
insanely beautiful
that shapes after
a tragedy
5:30 am
i wake up
dusting away my sins
even the sky is asleep
and calmness greets me; fajr
1:50 pm
i finish my chores
find peace on a mat
angry heat is roaming the streets
contentment enters my house; zuhr
5:40 pm
i will have my tea soon
but success awaits
in 4 rakats
the sun is now tamed; asr
7:00 pm
the light is going
and birds have gone
to their warm little nests
i am praying for home; maghrib
8:30 pm
the stars are bright
and they twinkle outside
the window of my room
I am standing in ruku; isha
this is how
5 times a day
i am
authentically, avidly, absolutely
alive
{namaz}
4:12 pm, five years ago, you were younger and
you were waiting for a miracle to happen; to
change everything. but this world isn’t as
generous as it appears and there’s always a lack
of miracles for those who wait for them. but
yes, it does extend a hand to everyone who is
willing to step forward and stare daringly in the
eyes of life to give them their share of
miracles.
{you are a miracle}
it only takes
a second or two
to look into their eyes
and decide
whether you’re home
or at just another
perfectly decorated house
when you fall
do it gloriously
collapse like a glass building
sink like a gigantic ship
and when you’re done
sinking and collapsing and
sinking and collapsing
build yourself
with your wreckage
i walk on two bridges everyday
one is easy; like my mother tongue
the other is scary; like a foreign language
it creaks
and my soul is split
between these two bridges
i cannot stop sounding
like the language i grew up with
and i cannot stop speaking
this foreign language
for it helps me
survive
{bilingual}
you’ll have to learn
the art of
losing, choosing, and refusing
to win what we call
the game of life
some houses are haunted. but they aren’t
always inhabited by ghosts. sometimes some
memories dwell there so starkly, their nameless
faceless sorrow starts taking over and the walls
keeping that house together start to collapse. i
have walked into such houses only to witness a
melancholic past, a withering present and a
silent future. those houses carry the dead
dreams and maybe broken hearts too
because god knows where else one
could ever find this much sadness
that would turn one firm building
into an abandoned mess.
{haunted houses without ghosts}
we belong
nowhere and everywhere
to the glimmering streets
of glorious cities
to the dark and dusty alleys
of places with names
that are hard to pronounce
and i wonder
if it is like that
because it’s been too long
since i last went home
{nomads}
like the anger of fire
shapes metal
like the sorrow of a writer
creates poetry
everything that is beautiful
doesn’t always start
beautifully
i am too afraid
of people who have souls like hometowns
warm, forgiving and too kind
that even if you leave; even when you leave
will always welcome you home
remember you with your family name
i am too afraid
of something too homely
when every breath coming out of my body
is shaped like leaving
{too afraid}
grow
like a wildflower
the one people do not notice
for they don’t smell like exquisiteness
and when you know you have
grown into something that is
remarkably exquisite
help those
who are like the wildflowers
that do not smell like
exquisiteness
you remind me of my favorite metropolis
sparkling, loud yet hauntingly sad when
the light goes out
your confidence; a popular skyscraper
your sadness; an old orphanage
your anger; a call of riot
your tears; an uninvited storm
i cannot thank you enough
for reminding me that cities too breathe
and humans too carry a heart of concrete
{my favorite metropolis}
how easy it is
for you to talk about destroying
buildings
plants
people
but i hope you remember
all of them can be rebuilt
from the tiniest pieces of their
remains
isn’t it
breathtakingly beautiful
how you’ve learned
to grow flowers
from the memories
that died
a long time ago
you look like a museum to me
standing firm in a chaotic city
calm in spite of all the urban noise
and beautifully aware of all the art
that resides in you
some of our men have become too large for our houses
that anyone who is not a man looks like
the shape of a foot to them
you’re not even equal to my shoe; it sounds
funnier than it actually is
they hope we will shrink—paint ourselves in
delicate frames to hang on the walls
but
we know how to build homes out of their
mortgaged dreams
and if we leave
their buildings will collapse
that is when they will know
we are the size of the skies and
their feet will look smaller than they actually are
{when women become the skies}
my dreams now look like spears
that i have to hold upside down
clench too tightly and i will bleed
hold too lightly and they will fall
there are days when i am a flag of victory
standing firm on a familiar ground; my fabric
without a single crease
winds bringing me pride and attention
from foreign eyes
but such days do not stay and then come
the days of being a flag of surrender
deprived of glory; i stand as a symbol
of what time is capable of doing
that with a new wind
comes a new victor
comes a new victim
{flags}
you are the loudest
and brightest
color of my life
my brushes refuse
to work when
your shade isn’t present
{when an artist falls in love}
sometimes my words
become a pile of broken glass
they do not come out
without hurting; dripping blood
and i forget how to speak
{difficulty}
history
i want it to reflect in my eyes
echo in my words
grown on my skin
for my mirror needs to know
