Kash Baloch — Poetry on Identity, Love, and Survival

Catastrophic calamity caused  by careless oversight,  you are the dimmest firefly in a field of fluorescent lights.  Your pubescent arrogance led you  to naively believe you were  not out of your league,  my fortress remained upright  despite your sadly-executed siege.  I could outsmart you at this game  you attempt to play  even if I was asleep,  prepare to suffer your greatest loss,  because I only play for keeps.  You lit the candle at both ends  then foolishly feigned ignorance,  brace yourself as I attack you  from every angle in defence.  Not fooling anyone by claiming intellect,  you simply regurgitated talking points to seem like you were smart— but now you are my sole target.  Bullseye every time  when I pierce your heart  with every dart,  you may think you're safe  but death is imminent  for I am equipped to end this war you wrongly chose t...

Mama was born a fighter,  into a life of adversity,  a fate beyond her control. She was a nurturer from the start,  and it was evident in the way  she reared her seven younger siblings,  without a single word of protest. To say this warrior queen  came from humble beginnings  wouldn't do her abysmal upbringing any justice.  My mother came from  next to nothing, in order to ensure that we would not have to suffer. A clay hut, in an indiscriminate village;  all they had were four mud walls. Her ambition was inherent,  as every move she made was with intention.  She endured the worst, and lived to tell— a true femme fatale in the making.