by Noor Unnahar
of cities i haven’t seen
that exhibits the art
my hands tremble to create
that looks like everything
i haven’t written poetry about
{future}
be kind
for this is something
a lot of people
can never be
metal clashing with fire;
this is how anger and i
fight
melt
settle
you said you would stay forever
but does this forever include all the times when
i am an earthquake; tearing apart my
own existence—burying down my own cities
because
i do not want the sound of the word forever in
the same air where I keep the sound of the
word survival if it was never meant to
be there at all
darling
self-discovery isn’t always
about the most convenient ways
you’ll have to burn, learn, and yearn
the unexpected, the unusual, and the unknown
i carry
the stories
the sadness
the victories
of people before me
i’m both a monument
and a future skyscraper
rising from the same skeleton
{family name}
with this thunder in your heart
and melancholy in your art
there is something
utterly, completely and satisfyingly
perfect about the way you live
this imperfect unpredictable life
i go to a war against words
to fight ’til one of us
has shed enough blood
to accept defeat; there’s no
easy way to write
time has woven
courage on my skin
i’ll shed myself whole
before it is taken away
{a promise}
the kind people
are running this world
they don’t know how
their one little smile
has saved many lives
i want to travel more. and out of a thousand
other reasons, i want to travel to be homesick.
i want to be on another land yearning for the
food of my hometown, for the warm and
aromatic chai my grandmother makes, for the
pink bougainvillea that stands firmly on the
lawn of our house. i want to travel to be away
from home so that i can return, loving it as
much as it deserves to be loved. i want to go
away from home just for returning back here
to realize everything i have ever neglected is
worth loving and
worrying for.
{wanderlust}
confidence is
the greatest armor
i have lost
many battles without it
words
are the antidote
for everything
that’s ever hurt
ever stopped
ever bruised
my heart
{a writer’s remedy}
who would have thought
that you
whose bones
have been to battles
whose words
burn before they come out
could be this gracefully composed;
an arrangement of kindness and strength
i am learning
how to say “strong”
in different languages
for if i ever forget
the sound of this word
in my own language
those words
could remind me
there are more
words
chances
worlds
where mine
ends
accept change
it doesn’t happen often
for most of us
freedom is really expensive and no one will wrap
it in a fancy paper to leave at your doorstep. you
will have to buy it with the currency of blood,
sweat and struggle. it doesn’t twinkle like sparkly
things. it is often shaped like bruised knees
and mourning skin. but what makes it too precious is
the fact that a lot of currencies will never be
strong enough to bid for it. this is where
it becomes insanely priceless.
{freedom}
the idea of destruction
keeps running through my veins like blood
yet my bones hold the will to create
everyday blood and bones in me clash
to create something; to destroy something
{the struggling artist}
a bolt of lightning
striking a building
made up of delicate glass
this is how i visualize
heartbreak
my parents are two long calls
one is about the weather—always about the
weather; father
one is about everything—you should do this
this and that; mother
cities away i do not calculate distance but
duration
has it been days?
has it been hours? since you last called
you do not get out of a broken family because
it gets out of you; a family in pieces
where their names become a hello and my name
becomes a good-bye
two voices on each side of the phone is what i
have in legacy now
{broken family}
what if we started naming heartbreaks after
people like they do with storms on
news channels
how would this heart look with name tags?
little crack—death; grandmother
a big part missing—departure; nameless
a part that still hurts—origins unknown; you
my heart has become a silent neighborhood
where only emptiness and your name dwell
nobody goes there; nobody gets out
because in a town where the only
thing you can breathe
are memories
nothing lives; nothing dies
with every sunset
a new hope is born
an old expectation dies
every single dream you’ve pushed into
the ocean
praying that it dies and leaves you alone
the water carries them; breathing and alive
you left them to wither but their pieces wither in you
dreams live as long as the dreamers do
survival is not beautiful
it is fire, ache, and everything that hurts
combined
but the survivors know how
after survival
everything is so insanely beautiful
i roam around in nameless alleys
taking photos with my kodak
for i am in love with a city
that didn’t love me back
i can fix a lot of things
but cannot mend a broken heart
for it is too fragile
and fixing it
is another art
but i hope to learn it soon
as i see mine getting torn
before it breaks into a million pieces
and i am left to fix it
all alone
i am growing flowers
in the darkest part of my heart
for if light ever enters
it would know where to start
my mother named me
light; the first ray starting the day
and there are days
when i forget there is
light at all
this name then becomes
a reminder how
the woman who raised me
named me after something
so glorious; it shines
and even on my darkest days
i am the light i should be looking for
{noor}
thank you for
getting
holding
reading this book
i am grateful
i hope you are taking
strength for your heart and art
from yesterday i was the moon
as the end arrives
{author’s note}
khatam shud
it ends here
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