Zubaida and the children left their home to discover a new religious refuge
Her husband would catch up with her later, he had to do what men do Continue reading
Poems
Second Generation
My Father was a hipster
His Father was a prisoner of war
Both of my Grandmothers believed in God
Gliding
You say you notice everything about me
You laugh and say I walk like I’m ice skating
Feet bounding ahead in a circular motion
As if that makes it easier to keep moving forward
Outbursts
I have a theory
That every blue moon, gold spills off my tongue
Unravelling out of my mouth like a seed in bloom
After a long winter of nothingness
It scares people
Shade
Some people will try and dim your light
Somewhere down your lifeline
The source of sorrow is that it won’t be who you expect
The devil appears in beautiful forms
And none are immune to his deception
To The Women Of My Blood
In memory of Fauzia Ahmed, 1959 – 2017
A perception of South Asian women has lingered
That they are inherently submissive, naive, hidden from the world behind dupattas and burkas
But I look to the women of my bloodline who arrived before me
