Kash Baloch — Poetry on Identity, Love, and Survival

Have you been baptised in the river Ganges or tasted the sweet, succulence of pomegranate? It beckons you with a single gesture, then lingers like fragrant jasmine. No funeral pyre is complete without its song, a haunting melody that intoxicates the senses; glimpses of past lives flash in your mind transporting you to simpler times.

01. Aspire to focus on the good, and always count one's blessings. 02. Embody the change I wish to see, not only in the world, but also in myself by striving to be the best version of me. 03. Accept that setbacks occur, and learn to utilize them as a catalyst for growth. 03B. Then, revisiting these same lessons until they are learned, to prevent the formation of patterns. 04. Prioritze the people and things that serve the greatest good, distance oneself from those which are destructive. 05. Remember that each day is a brand new opportunity to conquer the world, and to wake up with an attitude of gratitude. 06. Take inventory with oneself regularly, in order to ensure all needs are being met. 07. Silence the mind long enough to listen to intuition. 08. Set out to accomplish at least one ignored task daily. 09. Realize health and self-care are crucial; strive to lead a healthier, cleaner life. 10. Defeat the urge to be hypercritical of others or of oneself; focus o...

She permitted a single, sobering tear to stream down her right cheek, as she tightened her grip on my hand, and began to speak: "You asked me where it hurts, and forgiveness would not be an easy task,  if I were to lie and pretend I am fine, instead of wearing many masks."  "It hurts everywhere", she continued, "there is no inch of me without pain. Nor is there a moment in my day without ache, tension, or strain."  Then the dam broke, and her sadness poured from her like a flood,  waves of nausea washed over me at the sight of her sadness stained by civilian blood.  "Take for instance, Israel or the Gaza Strip, right here in the Middle East,"  at this, she pointed to her abdomen and winced like it was being devoured by some unseen beast. Humans have destroyed me, killing one another in the process, the ugliness of man is unlike any other to prevent its own progress. Their bombs rip me to shreds, and replace my beauty with craters; ...

Reduced to rubble, from missiles careening, sirens wail, signaling incoming threats. Blood dyes the streets red from casualties, filling the air with the unmistakable stench of death. Children orphaned in seconds, from wars waged for the greed of men, there is no humanity under duress, when will we learn to love instead? Entire cities destroyed in an instant, they say all is fair in love and war, widespread suffering and sadness replace the peace that existed before. All this ugliness for no reason, for hand drawn borders in vain, until mankind relinquishes its ego, history will repeat itself again.

She walks with her head held high, with the majesty of birds of prey.  With her hips swinging rhythmically, s he commands any room she enters,  turning heads for different reasons.  Her gait emulates American bald eagles, yet society solely see her as a peacock. A woman can only be pretty, they say her beauty is all that defines her.  These double standards are restrictive, and prevent girls from becoming hawks;  it forces them into a brand, then keeps them locked up in a box. Pigeonholed by the age of three, young women are being programmed to believe they can only be desired for their looks. They are discouraged from being bold, ridiculed for being brave  but males—they can be anything and are supported by their peers. For a female to be confident like a crow, or as self-important as a snowy owl is demeaning. She must possess the grace of a crane, or like a bird of paradise, she should be aesthetically appealing.   Some of her sisters ev...

A massacre pardoned conjures up genocides.  I am cursed by this forgiving nature;  it corrodes me.  Had you shot me  with silver bullets, I would still kiss your smoking gun. Violence, like yours, should not be forgot. But somehow, my head always turns to ignore it. As though, looking away negates its existence.  I could be between your sharp teeth, and convince myself you did not mean it. To say I am naive  is an understatement. Not even a fool could be so dense. Like a masochist, I return for a second helping of your appetizing abuse, then still come to your defense. I swallow every bite, savouring the taste as I chew. No excuse too contrived when I sacrifice myself for your illness. Now I burn at the stake for crimes I did not commit. My only regret remains in believing you were innocent.

Searching through the same old subterfuge, bits of shrapnel cut into my day old skin. Defiantly determined to dodge the deluge, I refuse to drown despite being unable to swim. A pair of possessed peepers watch my dance, branches bristle then crunch under unseen feet. I am on auto-pilot. Failure's left me in a trance, as I am hollow as the corpses of rotten trees. I grab a handful of gangrene covered leaves— squeeze every tear out of my stony heart. Avert your gaze while this lifelong widow grieves, with heaving chest, I fall apart. This enchanted forest is haunted by my remorse, unable to escape its curse unless I learn; the end will come once I bury my dead, beaten horse, until then, the world will not stop burning.

All we can do is dream, keep chasing after silver streams— dollar signs flash as we speed by. The only certainty is that we die. Distorted reality blurs meaning, tragedies occur without reason. Hope waivers, careening, The truth is rarely appeasing. Tempered glass shatters; the shards on the floor look like diamonds. Survival is all that matters, when my head hides wailing sirens. One day, my sun refused to rise, broken down from shining over lies. Nightfall never left my side, no visibility in a charcoal sky. Though I braved storms earthquakes, and landslides, suddenly the feather wind even bruised my pride. What do you tell two tired feet, or hands wrinkled from wringing? Not even paradise itself could stop my shuttered eyes from stinging. When faith runs out, carrying on seems pointless. Sometimes success even prefers avoidance. That is when I start to sink. I melt like wax on the parquet flooring. Scrutinize every crack then accost myself for i...

All you knew were fairy tales, you were no stranger to luxury. You grew up in a good neighbourhood, came from a respectable family. Here I was, this broken doll, from the wrong side of the tracks. Spent my childhood in bars, drinking cheap whiskey and Jack. It was clear as day for all to see, that we were not equally yoked. Despite our many differences, we still laughed at the same jokes. You took a chance on me, and ventured outside of your comfort zone. I came from rags, you made me feel rich. Our love was my million dollar home. Eventually, we ran out of time, just like they said we would. All things come to an end, especially when they are good. I wiped a single tear away, snuffed out our candle's flame. Now, it's been several years, but somehow my lips still taste your name.

Incorrigible landscape, that cannot be recreated. There is no copy and paste here. Ticking underneath my ribcage, a sleeping dragon awakens. Beating to the rhythm of birdsongs, one misstep could collapse a civilization. A glance mistaken capable of crashing stock markets. Your guess as good as mine what could make it plummet. Sending shockwaves through nations, like a sonic boom. Tremors that create rifts in the Earth, like natural disasters. Corrugated cardboard heart of mine, often recycled, occasionally left behind. One wrong move and limbs go flying, splattering the air, like the paint of possessed artists. A twisted scientist, he is a tortured genius. His every project, government green-lit. Imagine such power, the kind to be marvelled. With enough force to crumble mountains; one snap of his fingers and the world is reduced to shrapnel. Dust clouds the sky reducing vision. There is no clarity here, it vanished like a magician. Sometimes he is the ...

Whirling in circles,  thoughts race through my mind  like I'm stuck in the spin cycle. I thought I knew better, believed I had learned from this. Yet here I am again turning,  and twisting my words,  might as well take a book and hollow out its pages– rendering them useless. Why do I do this. Repeatedly committing to this insanity that robs me of peace. Mea culpa, why does it have to be. It steals my slumber and my dreams. Everything is charcoal filtered; it stings like lemon juice in fresh splinters. Scars on my face, bruises on my knees. Papercuts on my fingertips, that you drown in overproof whiskeys.  I hear a fizzing before  everything fades to black.  I regain consciousness  swimming in the blues. Is this the brand new me? Or a recycled, carbon copy?  An upgraded version or just  a software update for free. A never before seen silhouette  or the same old ghost I used to be. I just can't keep up,  with racing against the c...

Let freedom ring, it reigns supreme. Liberty's bell solely tolls for thee. Red, white, and blue but only for you. For me, red is the blood of my brothers and sisters you've murdered. White, the ticket of privilege that buys you luxuries my melanin can't afford. And blue? Blue is the police force that engages in brutality. Its sole criteria for ending a life is colour. I pray for the day there is no news of injustice. No headlines about rapists who are freed whilst teachers are wrongfully killed. Mama, when can we stop digging graves? Help me understand when we stop being slaves. Will we ever be saved? There seems to be no end in sight to this crusade. Is it reckless, are the riots in vain? All that ever changes are the names of the innocents slain.

You change states  like a magician. From fire to water,  then back again.  I feel you in the air,  you ground me, like the Earth.  And then you vanish.  Poof! In a cloud of smoke  you disappear  and leave me reeling.  That is when  I started  searching  for you.  Dancing in the moon's shadow,  I retrace my steps.  The light from a single black candle  casts a glow on my intrigued face.  My breath steadies,  my mind's eye  replays pleasant memories of  us together.  I would look possessed  to an outsider, but you.  You are inside me.  Only you see my concentration.  Devoted like the congregation of some old, unfamiliar church.  You become my religion;  I worship at your altar.  Prostrate at your feet.  Suddenly, the smell  of sage fills the room...

At half past five each Friday,  Samuel keyed-in his security alarm's four-digit code,  closing his office for the weekend.   He tightly clutched his  chestnut leather briefcase,  before hurrying to catch  the first train home. Conceding to the defeat of his  heavy-framed tortoise-shell  Armani glasses  while they  cut into the bridge of his nose; Samuel unlocked his apartment door,  greeted Madge, his cat,  and then kicked off  his alligator shoes. It was no secret at work that he was gay,  but their jaws would drop if they ever found out  he spent his weekends dancing in skin-tight dresses,  as a British woman named Samantha Fox.  Samantha had existed just as long as Samuel had known that he was queer.   She came to life, one magical day when he  looked in a mirror but instead of his reflection,  she appeared.   He turned up the speakers...