For every pakistani daughter who has dimmed her own light so that others may shine brighter.
Everyday is the first day of your life, dear one. You get to choose.
Though your heart feels numb and shadowed, though the day darkens early. You walk in the light. You sew illuminations into the holiness of you.
Cast forward the noor from within
radiance of angels
this quiet glow that threatens to usurp bone marrow and nitrogen
I see you, dear one.
I know how much it hurts — this wrenching of self, the pitiless gaze
visible in every mirror you do your best not to glance into.
Such is this inner keening — pale pink and white tissue
scrambling to be heard.
All good things are possible still — do not yet let this fade
Keeper of Truths waiting to be Heard
a sonorous clamoring,
adhan bellowing through your ribcage
I hear you. All of you.
Lover of small beauties
the shimmering tail, the quiet sigh, a steaming cup of tea
I claim you.
Broken. Unrepentant. Unhealed (yet!) (still?!)
I claim you.
There will be weeping, dear one. That is the tax of this earthly saturation
but know that you will weep for many things.
Some tears laced with joy; others
from the unforgiving blow,
the ax-wound aimed at the tissue of your heart.
You will weep for news you had never dared hope for ~
Yes, beti jaan there will be weeping yet.
All is not yet dark. All is not yet lost.
Please. (I beg you) (I beg you)
Find one small detail to keep you alive yet.
There is still radiance, this tiny, heaving glow — the perpetual engine within
Do not forget what you know — the deeper truth, the force you carry
The lighthouse that is you
Will not dim this illumination so soon.
But keep faith yet.