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beti

Maa makes a salan for each son

because they like different things

 

but the beti needs to learn to make her own food

kyun ki uski age pe shaadi aur bachey hotey hain

 

larka jaan per be jaiy, jaise bi rai

maa ankh band karke osko kabi kuch boley gi nahi

 

beti aik galti kare

uski izzat zaban per aja ti hai

 

the sons can go out and party get a girl pregnant

but they’ll still be able to move on and find a good girl to marry

 

the girl stays out a bit later than 8 pm

might wear a t-shirt,

and the whole mohalla is calling her a slut, saying she’s no longer a virgin

 

truth is

we don’t love our girls as much as our sons

 

truth is

you have failed us girls

 

truth is

us girls are tired of walking on eggshells

of being thrown around, walked all over

and expected to have sabr

 

kehte hain betiyaan sab se bari rehmat hain

toh aaj hum ko kyun torey ho

 

Picture Credit: @thepakistanimarthastewart

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A dance in the dark

Now I find myself dancing
to the frantic beat of my heart
at the threshold of judgment
desperate for a figment of
something positive, warm
but realise that I’m shackled
by cynical negations, galore.
Here demons wear masks
of noblemen and kings
and brandish their swords
Continue reading A dance in the dark

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The Aftermath by Samihah Pargas

I often wondered if you were as sad as I was after you walked away. It pained me to say that perhaps you were not, and one day I had to let my hope dissipate. This is where I walk now, on the road taking me further away from you and any dreams I held onto. I stopped by the ocean for a while and tried to drop your name into the water, but I might as well have drowned myself because you were still inscribed all over me. Continue reading The Aftermath by Samihah Pargas

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Indomitable Woman

that badass Black Queen
fluttered across those keys,
matching the grooves of her
scars, the heart of her art
beaming at war

scaling buildings of thought,
mauling the gaul of contention,
shattering mirrors of sought
insecurities & indecision

skipping across the creamy
dusts of nebulas, tapping
the tips of her toes on
starry mists. Continue reading Indomitable Woman

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Anatomy of a Suicide

You assume that they will think of you
and smile.
Remember all of your best attributes,
wish you were here.

Sometimes that’s true.
Sometimes it’s not.

Sometimes I want to bring you back to life
just to tell you how angry I am.
To tell you I love you
and that he deserved better.

m.e. peters

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Not Perfect

I’m not perfect.
Although that should be clear as water, sometimes I feel the need to state it. For myself and for others. Especially for others. It is probably my fault and in my actions. It’s probably something I do or don’t do. It’s probably because of the way I see the world and how I speak of it.
I am not perfect.
And I get tired.
And I give up too.
There are so many things I have given up and not looked back. There are so many things I have looked back but not regretted. There are so many things I regret too.
It’s entirely human. I believe.
Being a mess of so many things, not only good, not only bad, but everything. Not black or white but fifty shades of blue. And some purple, once you wear those rose colored glasses. On holidays. Or those real good days.
The days you hold on to with everything you got to keep moving forward. To keep moving. Even if only an inch or less. Even if to the sides or back. Just moving. Because life is made of movements, moments, actions and decisions you never really got to think through.
Life happens. But I digress.
I’m not perfect. And that’s fine. It’s entirely human, I believe.
What about you?
© Máh Lima


Photo by Ahmed Ashhaadh on Unsplash

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Everything Chases the Sun by Chris Eyes

Everything chases the sun

The temptation is towards silence

but the noise always seems to win.

I yearn to empty my days of everything but you.

I’ll be burnt but I accept the scars.

See, morning is nothing without a dream to chase,

but while the waste of a generation fades

and days wait only for the moonlight,

my world illuminates in the dark,

where death is a spark,

a spike to the heart,

when all is unsaid,

and the hunger is fed

I contemplate greed

and the silence becomes nothing but a reason to bleed.

The ink is a seed

and everything chases the sun.

– Chris Eyes

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What poetry is to me by Ayesha Noor

poetry is

the exorcist of my demons

the water that puts out the fire in my mind

the surgeon that stitches the shredded pieces of my soul back together

the angel on my shoulder that keeps the devil from ruining me irrevocably

Continue reading What poetry is to me by Ayesha Noor

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Abstractify

 

Abstract art is for me a way to think outside the norm, to let go of expectations and to try and see things a little differently, even if only for a moment. Abstract art defies terms or classification, is outside of borders or -isms, it exists merely because it can and does and the meaning is ambiguous, much like life itself.

All eyes see differently, with their own biases and desires, wants and needs, and an image can mean a million different things to a million different people. Abstract art doesn’t preach, it offers itself up in humbleness and piety and those who wish to worship can, those who wish to question can, and those who wish to ignore, can.
Abstract is uniqueness, it is a term designed to provide a context when context is not the most important thing. The most important thing is that you feel something, anything and consider yourself for a moment.
It is a way to create without expectation, to form freely with complete innocence, child like and full of hope, and convey an element of yourself that cannot be put into words.
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If You Come, Love

Love,
if you come knocking at my door
turn the knob and enter
this time I won’t answer
I’m tired of rushing to greet only to get disappointed.

Love,
I’m sorry for giving up right on your turn
it’s unfair of me to judge you
based on the actions of the ones before
or their lack thereof.

Love,
it’s ok to make yourself at home
get acquainted with the lonely rooms
pay attention to where the shadows form
I’m tired of providing only sun
and blooming when there’s no one to care for.

Love,
if after all this you decide to stay
if despite all this you still want to make home
my heart is yours to tame
my soul is yours to love.

Love,
one last word of advice, though
beware of full moons.
The tides get high
and I’d hate to drown you too.

© Máh Lima


Photo by Albert Dera on Unsplash

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like jenga.

Here’s to fragile egos

falling like games of Jenga.

Watch it crumble.

Watch it crumble.

Crumble—

not really humble

a paranoid psycho

afraid to start a conversation—

no typo

but I walk a tightrope

cruising on fumes

running out of hope

man,

that’s the saddest shit I ever wrote.

 

Photo Cred: Hamza Abdulilah

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Becoming One

Our foreheads press together as we lie

Breath exhaled from your lungs becomes entangled with mine

I am enveloped by our intimacy

Secrets I’ve never shared sit tucked away in the shadows of my memory

Now they escape my mouth again

Into a place you’ve made safe

 

Our foreheads press together

Our breath becomes entangled

Our selves transform into one being