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.

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#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 Araújo

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.

20.

red flowers with green leavesWhen I look back, I realize that there is no sorrow, no regret and absolutely no contempt to hold against my past. I see myself growing into someone I will be proud of once this phase has passed and with this I realize how life is made up of these little fragments that are so deeply connected to those around them. That’s how people come to affect us so intrinsically.

I used to write stories years ago but I could never complete them. I always wondered what it’d be like to complete one, to reach an end, something definite and finite. Years later I know that if we never learn to embrace our beginnings then the ending can never make sense. I thank God each day for friendships and love that are much more than what others usually experience. You don’t read about it in books and you never get to watch it on TV, you live it and that is the only way to become a part of happiness that is wholesome and pure.

You see it in eyes that sparkle with emotions, in sentences that are interrupted by constant laughter, on bad days when you’re not alone like you used to be and in the faces of people that simply care for you and cherish you in ways no one else ever did, they were never meant to anyway.

Twenty years later, I’m content and at peace with my surroundings and God, with opening up to the right people and loving like I never have before. This isn’t just another phase; it’s a whole new lifetime, a beginning that reeks of hope and goodness, of lilies and hibiscus, of honesty and blue skies, of vulnerabilities and poetry.

-Nameera.

Image Credits: Unsplash

 

 

 

 

Privilege

The sight of a bird looking down upon the travelers lost on the road, that is what my vision can capture

The crisp white bed sheets adorning my bed are smoother than the lines upon their young faces

The sun shines in my part of the world so that my hair gets rid of the water but in their part of the world, it burns their feet and leaves them with dry throats

The only water that flows in their realm is sweat and blood, helplessness and despair

Sometimes, even nature takes a cruel shape against them

It’s been a long day under this roof, it’s been a long day under the skies

In my part of the world, I argue with facts and devour logic with each step that I take forward in a direction I know is meant for me

In their part of the world, the only direction is the endless road, the only logic is a two square meal and the only argument is the one that ends with an absence of privilege synonymous with a voiceless music

And this is poverty for someone like me who can only write about it but ‘they’ hear its voiceless music and they are its heart-wrenching lyric 

Privilege is a funny thing, it almost makes you forget where you could be and at the same time, it makes you realize how it limits you when you don’t have the proper devices to make use of it

My poetry is almost always adorned with metaphors but this time, I refuse to put any ornaments upon it

This one time, I want you to analyze your privilege and worry about things that have absolutely no inkling to your reality

Because this entire world and every being in it is your reality, we’re nothing more than an amalgam of skin and bones tied to different fates, we’re nothing more than dirt and dust encircling each other in a perpetual pool of ups and downs

It’s your past that is fighting hard to survive the war against hunger and capitalistic regimes 

It’s your future succumbing to death while you’re just an infant in the lap of your wailing mother and a father who couldn’t make it

It’s your present self urging you to do something about it, your privilege seeks a purpose, give it while you still can. 

-Nameera.

Daylight

Daylight is the kind of hope fumbling for words simply because you don’t give her enough space to expand her lungs and search for the sun rays like an infant trying to pronounce the alphabet.

She’s waiting on the other end while darkness covers you head to toe, she calls out to you while you lay asleep, possibly. Daylight stuffs her mouth with grapes until her days are sour enough to forget you. She sleeps with her eyes wide open, she dreams about your sleep while you lose it bit by bit. Every night she calls out to you from the shadows. You see demons instead. Every night she weaves epiphanies out of the blankness but you’re too focused on all the things that slowly suck the nectar out of your peace; it’s a withering flower now, bowing low and deep, buried inside its own existence.

What do you do when your own body is a grave that engulfs you whole?

One day you wake up and realize that it’s past midnight. You notice that it’s the hour of the demons, like they say in the movies. You shrug your shoulders, smiling at the odd thought. But isn’t it odd that you’re suddenly awake? Why did sleep arrive in the first place when this was supposed to be the end, you staying awake and wondering all that you are at this moment. Then you think of all those things that happened and died out halfway through. Would it really matter if they hadn’t taken place at all? I mean, it would probably affect your self-growth. But does He have to make growth so hard and giving up so easy? Who is this He I refer to anyway? Then you remind yourself that it was this very prospect of how things usually are that made you want to stand up to them. What if giving up wasn’t easy? What if complaining all the time actually solved all the problems? Would you really be who you are today?

3 AM is not an end, it never will be. It’s the exact moment of finding, oneself, the truth, God, love, sleep – who can tell? It can be anything you want it to be. It’s not the hour of dark things that lurk in the shadows, it’s the hour to wait, to wait for daylight.

Daylight will come, she’s almost here. The grapes were never sour, they were bittersweet and so is your life. Daylight is yours, embrace her too.

Your body isn’t a grave but a precious gift of nature. Flowers grow on it, they grow deep inside you and all around you. If you close your eyes and smile, they bloom. Do you notice how your breath is a sign of so many things, it could be the soft breeze, the harsh winds, the gentle tides, the rustling leaves, buzzing of bees, the plop of a frog, a butterfly flapping its wings, a cats purr and the silent drizzle – the sigh of nature is forever looking to brighten up your day.

You’re not lost, you are home so carry yourself with love and faith.

-Nameera.

Image credits : Unsplash

Moon & Dreams

The moon is a beautiful shade tonight, do you see it fall over that distant darkness?

It’s like she’s offering her shoulders in prayer-

A prayer that becomes our long lost wish

An admixture of paperweight dreams,

My mind and my thoughts keep me running

I’m always on my feet, looking for answers that paint my questions in different hues

I see myself becoming more thoughtful

I see my shadow morph into the sunlight

I feel my senses drowning in yours

I feel, like I never have before.

-Nameera.

Curtains

A perennial shower of peace spreads across my chest

Joy crawls over my body like sticky ants

Their sweet blood infuses with mine

I hear a song these curtains muse~

They’ve been watching me curl up and inside,

They’ve been learning my silent wish;

A lily settles upon my lashes

My fingers extract the elixir that completes me

I tear apart the walls and the couch and the stains

The stains of the waves getting out of control, spinning all over the place

Blue runs deep and high above

The curtains sing your name,

Draw them.

-Nameera.

Image Credit : Unsplash

Staircase to Earth



Hell.

All this time, he spoke to me in varied hues of oranges and reds. He whispered in flames that burned my head, he moved about in a curfew that swept my need for fresh air. I am a tree, with a broken heart carved on my stomach. The knots of insomnia tighten around my thighs until I bleed Eve’s sin. Unholy birds perch upon my nape, they think my darkness is a home they’ll never find again.

Heaven.

The flowers here grow even more cheery while I paint them. They look like promises of something I haven’t seen yet. They whisper poetries that make no sense. The sun shines brighter than before and I can look at it, gaze into its soul. The moonlight becomes a passage to ballroom where love dances with fate. I watch it, I admire it from afar. I’m good here but so far away. Where is it that my bones ache to be?

Earth.

Home. Love. Life. Trauma. Death. So many colors that come without our choosing. If we chose black, white unfurls at the edge of our existence. If we chose red, green finds a way to our heart. We bind prayers upon our foreheads and paint heaven and hell. Our deeds paint us in either of the two. I sleep under a blanket of warmth, I’m in love. My bones don’t ache anymore. My bones say I’m home ~ on earth.

-Nameera.

The Prayer

pink-petaled flowers

There are mosquito bites all over my feet
The itch grows like climbers around my knees
My veins circle the heart
My hands run out of control
I’m spinning in this web of my creation
I’m a collector like spiders
Except that I don’t devour upon my hosts
I watch them grow out of their existence
Until they’re born anew
And I see them fly away
Like all my bad thoughts that disappear into the light
The sun swallows sins at once
Its spine is a constellation lined across the sky
I watch God take a walk in the chambers of my heart
He looks out the window and I gaze into your eyes
He looks at my happiness
I gaze a little more than usual, until he has learnt
The name of my only prayer,
You.

-Nameera.

Image credits: Unsplash