Kash Baloch — Poetry on Identity, Love, and Survival

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...