Poetry By Timsal Fatima
Dear Mom,
They keep me safe here
It’s not worth knowing that
They’ve chopped my hair
I look like a boy, now
But
My flesh is fragile, still
At night
The cold water freezes my nerves
Do I have a choice of not washing their dishes?
Had not my bruises remained raw,
I’d have waited to write
Their ointments are
Guarded by grandeur
When my blood
Shrieks out of my skin
Even after all, They keep me safe here
The pain waters my eyes
As I walk through that street
The primeval wooden windows
The smell of the damp sand
The fallen leaves
Cold air, touching my chapped lips
I trace your footsteps
To seek sweet revenge
Of love that I never sought
Had not the marble in my ring
Gone vapid, I’d have gone
But I unlearned to live in this street
When I learned to get lost In unsettling familiarities
The writer is a student of English Literature at GC University, Lahore and can be reached at: timsalfatima27@gmail.com
