July 2025

Earthen world – clayey, resistant,With compact top and substantive basis,Inside black pots. Farmhands exchange seeds,Now pooled in an inventory,Based on tribal subsistence farming,Inside black pots. Go Dutch with knowledge, diversity, security,Debar killing, monoculture, hybrids,In effect veritiable unsoiled sap varieties present,Inside black pots.

sand dug upto fashion a structure A home that she dreamt ofA home that she thought she hadthe waves washed it away the lone dog looksthe black and pinkBelt around her neck the waves keep lashing A broken piece of woodSunk in

School Reopens It was the end of summer holidays and the start of a new term at Waldorf High. Despite being fatigued from yet another sleepless night, I walked into my classroom at six thirty am— long before the official school hours.

Valentine’s on February the 14th,The internet drips with UrduAnd its syrupy tropesFor romance.The language of love,With its endless supplyOf affectionBlooming in lettersLike liliesDraped in syllablesOf gossamer.Mohabbat. Mehboob. Jaan-e-jahaan–Love. Beloved. Life of the world.14 lives of the worldIn which lived Bilkis Yakoob Rasool

(the hours)Completed on October 23, 2022 The sweet poison of hot water hitting my tired feet at 3 amAll that was left unsaid as you board a 4 am flightMy heart melancholy, waking up late for fajr again at 5 amA forgotten

The door creaked open gentlyLike a cat’s paw paving way stealthilyTo peep inside for foodI got up to see if it was a whirlwind…It was drizzle embracing zephyrSinging a regal neomeWith a monophonic harmony.Water washed heat giving birth toPetrichor – the best

Iridescent points of lightin the orbit of your eyes shining,in the nightly blackness like a cat’s eyes gleaming.The Hawk watchingh its prey, prowling high,Circling around before the deadly plunge below. Like the time we wed, your ring round my fingerThen my slim

I checked today—My wings are shattered.No flights this summer.I’ve scoured every wing shop,“No match,” they say. It’s obvious, isn’t it?Each soul is singular.You can’t just swap a wing—it’s not right.To claim another,you’d have to steal a soul. I’d never take a life.Well,

at some of the hardest points in life,whenever tears gather, ball, and roll out of your eyes,(right through your hair tucked along your ears)making you feel the heat of your head,you want to stop growing up. you want to hold and hang

Floating in Isolation With nameless characters, the film, “Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter…and Spring” revolves around life and the struggle with time and its inevitable changes. It feels like walking into a painting, with a few dialogues, leaving us to decipher the meaning.

As the earth adorns the cloak of darkness,A masque it orchestratesWith various creatures at play,Offering typical sights and soundsYet seeming bizarre each time –Be it the waning moonAmidst the shadowy cloudsOr the wolf’s howl in a distant village,The haunt of the croaking

I saw youWhen I was weak,When my voice was quiet,When my tears were loud… I saw your nailsScratch my flesh,Dig into meLike I was nothing… I saw your hands-Rough, cruel-Grab my breasts,Twist pain into my skin, Prove your manhoodwith violence. I saw

When I return again,I will forget which cornerI buried my memories…which crack in the wall held my laughter,which soap smelled like my mother. I will knock before entering my own past. Because exile isn’t always forced.Sometimes, it’s chosen. But the ache?The ache

Hyde and Seek

i awakento the beginningof a new dawnbreathing inthe saffron raysof our blazing sunnaked & exposedas wheni was first bornundera falling starjoyfulthat my soulwas ridinga blue moonbeamstraight intothe cool greenevening breezepast the billowingcloudspast themilky wayimmersing intomy mother’spure white & eagerimmaculate breasts

nobody wants to hearabout the things we really want to sayor the things we should be saying.like every time I step outto go somewhere aloneI can think of nothing morethan my father once upon a living man hereor how we are living