Kash Baloch — Poetry on Identity, Love, and Survival

At the intersection of life, I crossed my heart and hoped to live. No stranger to pain or strife, I accept life is a gift. At first, grief was like a knife, sharp enough to create rifts. Until I saw the light, I accept life is a gift. On clear days or dark, stormy nights, whether in wealth or in thrift, I will not succumb to fright; I accept life is a gift. I will not flee, but I will fight, so that my consciousness will shift, ignore my urges to take flight, I accept life is a gift.

My lungs fill with water, I am struggling to breathe, but instead of fighting, I hold my breath, then count to three. Wrestling my demons underwater, darker down here than above ground. I hear the great big sea around me, but still feel the disconnect. I am no stranger to conflict, born to battle to prove I deserved a place. Unfair though for you to ask me, when I am not the reason why I am here. Caged in imaginary wire, tangled in invisible thread. Cautious even as I kept playing with fire, burnt to a crisp but barely dead. Panacea could not cure me, I am as real as porcelain. As I float in and out of consciousness, one treacherous side of me remains living. Button eyes refused to see reality, in denial of our failure to survive, bordering on suicidal, despite the doctor’s opinion that I am fine. My body can no longer create moisture, parched now from a history of crying sheep. Crystalline and diamond teardrop shapes, form in my tear ducts in...

I need to wake up from my slumber, this coma has robbed me of progress. I am drunk and high although I’m sober, floating through life, like I'm in a bubble. Ready to move on now, but my feet refuse to touch the ground. My teeth shiver betraying my cover, as my speech is intentional, despite this stutter. Anxious heart of mine is a flutter, afraid to finally move on. And although, I’m ready to go, I just can’t touch the ground. More silent than a whisper, more sacred than all the saints; the less I have, the less I feel, until my head remembers it holds a brain. Running on empty, ambition is my gasoline, soon it will abandon me,  and I will need to remember  the man I was meant to be. Drowning out of water,  my lungs fill up with air, and I let go, count to three and breathe,  then say a prayer. "Dear God please let this be, let my feet finally hit the ground, Lord, I'm so tired of running, it hurts so deeply that I can har...

My beloved, your fragrant spirit seduces my soul, sending it soaring through the sun-kissed sky. I dance intoxicated, bathing in your beauty. At whose feet shall I prostrate in appreciation? Whose ears have earned praise for placing your hand in mine? I sail six, and seventy seas on a whim, chasing rumours you are an island. Twirling towards ecstasy, tumbling over my attraction; coasting on caresses that collide into me. I locate you inside the canvas where my subconscious paints its dreams. Behold the broken shards which I clumsily pieced together craving comfort; they come crashing down. Awestruck by the sight of your crystalline containment. Sparkling, your eyes lead me on a journey into your mystery. That is where I locate your appeal; it brandishes me in blessings. Hark! Herald angels sing your heart's songs. They reveal all your secrets which somehow replenish ensuring you always remain an anomaly. An enigmatic Madonna-like muse, ...

Pink orchids stand guard by the window on this sombre Sunday morning, silently expressing their sympathy, like sorrow's sullen soldiers. Today, this day, no visits were paid, for all she craved was solitude. Long gone are the fleeting moments; time so rarely used. Sighs filled every corner of this solitary room, staining the wallpaper yellow; clouding the air with gloom. Remnants of stickers marked with names remain affixed to the heavy door; reminders of her sisters, who had suffered through this before. Initially, her diagnosis stole her femininity, until she persevered, survived, and resilience reclaimed her dignity. One's body is not the sole testament to their womanhood, their experiences scream louder than superficial features ever could.