Will You Write Yourself?

If the heaven was the eyelash that stole my wish

If it was the candle that I blew on days I lived,

Then I want to write my own goddamn History

In an abyss that reeks of an unending staircase,

I hand my sins to you, so you may decide my grave

I fall as I fly, unto the blue skies~

re-writing the tears that have forgotten how to be a poem.

-Nameera Anjum Khan

(An excerpt)

Happy Women’s Day

On this day, I want to celebrate trust, dependency and sensitivity.

It’s a blessing to be able to rely on friends and family. As a woman, I’ve seen a considerable level of criticism/unwanted suggestions coming my way because of my choices in life. However, these pricking truths are not the only facet to my life. It is also true that I’m blessed with amazing people that I can trust. And over the years, one biggest life lesson that I’ve learnt is the importance of sensitivity & vulnerability. They have their own beauty, their own poetry to convey.

People will always condition women to grow through such tough phases that independence becomes their sole aim. But I beg to differ. Independence is not JUST about handling your own finances, traveling solo, being able to take your own decisions or wearing clothes of your choice. Have you ever thought about dependency with a straight mind?
I do not mean to convey anything negative by this. What I’m trying to say is that maybe dependence doesn’t really have to be looked down upon so passionately. Maybe there’s a truth to it we aren’t taught to acknowledge. Maybe our society has upheld stupid convictions for so long, that some words just sound absurd. But this doesn’t have to stop us from defining their meanings in our own terms, right?

My mother always tells me that Allah says, it’s wrong to blame time – as in – how people say that this era (referring to time) was better than the one we live in today. So, next time if somebody says ke hamare zamane mai aisa kuch nahi hota tha, then remind them that people have always found a way to do whatever the hell they want to. Good and bad people have existed since the beginning of Creation. Things have happened exactly the way they do now, except that the means of doing them were different.

And just because today is different, it doesn’t have to be wrong. You can still trust people, if you’ve been betrayed before. Give those who are really trying their best a Chance. You can still be an independent woman, a happy woman, a vulnerable woman, an ambitious woman, a hopeful woman, and a woman who depends on her family and friends & reciprocates their love.

-Nameera Anjum Khan

On Writing

Writing for a purpose, specially one that’s for a long term, can be so difficult to provide an impetus to. I’ve been so frustrated and annoyed at myself for the past few months. I was in a similar position at the beginning of the previous year, but it was for all the different reasons.

And I honestly love writing about writing, you know?

I’m not making much sense. Also this is yet another pms-ing rant haha, in case it wasn’t obvious.

I want to write for myself, like I always have. But I also want to share myself with the people that inspire me and vice-versa. We all have some inspiration to offer to each other. It’s beautiful.

Life is beautiful, we should write it more often.

-Nameera Anjum Khan.

Of Women & Moonlight

A land that pushes women to the stature of a Goddess

Is also adept at pulling them down when necessary

This reminds me of necessities that arise out of despai

A colony of ants climb the hills that reek of sweet sanity

Between my knees are bruises that never healed

Between my palms are lines of sweat that never left any empty space

‘Push, push, push’ – “It’s a moonlight wailing in birth and blood!”

How do I tell them,

That it’s the moonlight wailing at the prospect of illuminating silently, humming songs of anger that sound like sweet sanity?

It’s another bitter Goddess biting her fate, watching the poison take nefarious shapes in her throat

Until the day she takes back her throne,

Until then there’s only a sip of hope.

-Nameera Anjum Khan.

__________________________________

#1 – Period Rambling

I don’t really intend to go anywhere with this blog post but I want to start a personalized series. Maybe. Lol. Yeah this is gonna be difficult for me because to document my feelings & thoughts online, yeah idk. I mean its not the same thing as poetry you know, you don’t have metaphors or other poetic devices to save your ass. I mean my poetry can get way too explicit and raw most times (because I don’t usually edit it lmao) (lazy lazy) but this rawness and honesty would be a totally different deal. I might stop with this one post and I may never stop. You know, this reminds me of Dark and that one point when the worlds are ending and there’s a portal opened between the two for a nanosecond, if Jonas stays or if he goes with this dark-haired mysterious Martha with bangs, that one point would break or make the rest of the timeline.

Artist : Wendell Ara├║jo

How very cool. So yeah I mean I guess my actions wouldn’t really affect the timeline as such but when we get down to think about it, how could it NOT affect the people around me on a larger scale? For example I chose to not write after this and continue to only share my usual poetry and prose, would I really be leaving things as they are or would my actions hamper a certain ripple that will be born when I continue to chose? The people I love, total strangers who end up here through my clever tags that seemed to have stopped working i tell you lmao anyway so they end up here and maybe i am to play some part in their life and if I don’t continue to write, I’ll never find out. You see, this is what keeps the majority of us going, “I’ll never find out”. There is this tendency of a negative push that we give to ourselves. Why? Idk man. Like there are times when i think about these extremely positive people and I don’t get the vibes man it’s like a huge facade that they’ve created for themselves and not necessarily for others. It has such a subtle presence that you would easily miss but sometimes you can feel that positivity overwhelming you. That’s pressure. That’s the pressure of all the superficial things that this world is feeding you and you’re eating promptly. The pressure of seeing everyone around you studying their asses off (THEY’RE ALL NETFLIX-ING AND CHILL-ING) and you get scared, you get small in a way, you know. You shrink away, inside. Except that you can’t stay there forever so you get out, get some ice-cream and watch a heart-breaking, soul-touching, mind-opening and thought-provoking anime movie/series and you go to sleep finding joy in small things. Everything makes sense now, no more pressure. I promise you, not all small things are bad, I mean isn’t it beautiful when you realize how you have this cute little friend circle and the person you love is singing you a lullaby and you’ve watched that pretty anime movie and the soundtrack is still running on your mind. Man. Fuck everything else. This is life.

Good night (:

Skin

Your skin tastes like mumbling blue berries trapped inside sea shells, skies falling upon your collarbones
Did you really believe that the weight of this world could shatter you?
You carry butterflies inside your stomach
You love like tomorrow is but a fable
Tell me, do you not shudder when you think of the end?
Maybe heaven really is a beginning,
A strawberry stream flowing through the crevices of the wild forest that you are

Your skin tastes like a scream splattered across the wall
It’s red and soaked in wet sheets
There’s a sickness drowning you until you can’t breathe
Mother, I see how the heaven under your feet often makes the earth beneath it slip away
The clouds shake while God’s laughter echoes in your eyes
My first poem is your name, your name

Your skin tastes like an oration pleading for hope
A lullaby that sleeps over my chest
The winds carry my whispers and I feel your smile against my lips
My breath is a wild goose flapping its wings against a chest that has only known heaviness
How do you get used to feeling this light?

Your skin is my home, the window that is always open, the curtains that will never be drawn, the door that will never be locked and the poem that only begins

Your skin tastes like heaven falling in love with herself for the first time.

-Nameera.

Far Away

Grey furniture in a room full of colorful walls

Black being the most significant constant

I look at the skies like a naked painting organizing itself by evening,

With the last stroke of the sunlight

I watch my sins flutter upon valleys with foreign names

My body parts morph into my mind

I am my mind more than I am anything else

A grey piece of furniture that completes me

I speak in butterflies and cherries

I see in sunlight and wind chimes

I’m far away, deep within, unfurling at the hem of my openness.

-Nameera.

Life

Isn’t it strange how we don’t even notice the moon go down on her knees and the sun coming up with its golden stories that the birds chirp across trees and windows and balconies?

Isn’t it strange how some flowers bloom today and some wither away simply because it’s not their season?

Maybe this strangeness is what we call life but never really know how to define it.

-Nameera.

A Sigh of Freedom

The distance is a mist eddying upon my thighs

She plays the lyre that resembles eternity

Grapes have been growing around my wrists

My feet taste like oranges swallowed by the steps they take

The portrait of a holy tomb stares at me

I feel my shoulders turn into minarets

My stomach morphs into a call to the right side

This voice is God’s omen raining down on my face

I look up to the skies and I see blue skies free from the politics I’ve left behind

The earth behind me wails in the echoes of hopeless civilizations

I don’t rage anymore

I’m free from your shackles, I was always my own call for freedom, love and acceptance

-Nameera.

The skies are wilting leaves

Today it rains like petals falling from above

Flowers of heaven shed their eternity

The earth laughs in cyclones and hailstorms

When she claps her hands forests are laid ablaze

The fire slowly subsides when the windows are shut

And doors forget what it was like to be laid bare, naked, open

There are flowers growing inside our minds

Our bones are nature’s kiss

And this flesh is a long lost wish,

Drowning in the reality that comes with it.

Nameera.