Kash Baloch — Poetry on Identity, Love, and Survival

I gaze longingly at the stars, searching for an answer, attempting to find reason hidden in their alluring mystery.  With both my eyes squeezed tightly shut, my third awakens and opens; it is wide enough to fit the entire universe in its field of view.  I see myself reflected in the sky; my ancestors light my way as my soul leaves my body.  It rises like smoke, and feels as light as steam, filled with the vapours of tears I could not cry; floating higher than hot air balloons that colour the clouds.  Unexpectedly, I find you—exactly where I left you; between the sound barrier and my dreams, both currently equally inaccessible to me.  But I am too busy living in the moment, or at least that's what I claim. I blow you a kiss and pass you by, leaving you behind to chase fulfillment.  You, the lesson I refused to learn.  You, the embers that made me burn  until my lungs could take no more.  My spirit soars, elated, satisfied to discover a solutio...

I gaze longingly at the stars, searching for an answer, attempting to find reason hidden in their alluring mystery.  With both my eyes squeezed tightly shut, my third awakens and opens; it is wide enough to fit the entire universe in its field of view.  I see myself reflected in the sky; my ancestors light my way as my soul leaves my body.  It rises like smoke, and feels as light as steam, filled with the vapours of tears I could not cry; floating higher than hot air balloons that colour the clouds.  Unexpectedly, I find you—exactly where I left you; between the sound barrier and my dreams, both currently equally inaccessible to me.  But I am too busy living in the moment, or at least that's what I claim. I blow you a kiss and pass you by, leaving you behind to chase fulfillment.  You, the lesson I refused to learn.  You, the embers that made me burn  until my lungs could take no more.  My spirit soars, elated, satisfied to discover a solutio...

She bounces between the shadows of strangers, playing a solitary game of Hopscotch that seems to never end. The looming skyscrapers provide her with the utmost comfort, a retminder that she is a single loose thread hidden by fancy needlework in the overall fabric of this metropolis.  Despite longing to remain as anoymous as the Jane and John Does in hospital morgues, the rubies in her hairband glisten in the sun, letting her presence be known against her wishes.  Once she is ready, she will vanish without a trace, disappearing into the concrete sidewalks like the rain. But until then, she permits the sun to paint her shadow ruby red.  One day she will fade away, becoming one with the blaring horns from taxicabs, and excited voices of children rushing home from school. That is when she will finally be happy—more elated than the current fleeting moments of contentment that make her wince from the transient way they ebb and flow, and tease. Until then, she remains vigilant, ...

Since colonialism corrupted her innocence, dyeing Mother India's land with the blood of innocents. Once, harmony existed between their inhabitants, until extremism reared its ugliness and sought to create division. From the beginning of time, India was one, home to many different tribes that coexisted peacefully under the Hindustani sun. From the shores of the Indian ocean, to the Himalayas and Bangladesh in the east, there was no bond quite like theirs until pride and ego made it cease. I still consider myself to be Indian despite having Pakistani roots, one day, hoping to to adventure throughout India, whilst feasting on her fruits. Long live Mother India, the birthplace of all religion, though I remain in mourning for the casualties lost to predatory partition.

She has hips like Venus, that ebb and flow, with the rhythm of the sea; her waves wash over me. I seek tranquility in her ocean. Swimming in her to define my freedom. A body of water like no ofher. She smells of saline and hard labour. Every breath's an effort, just like the very air I breathe. Sweet as honey, she is thick as milk. Despite being blamed for Eve's original sin, she still weaves through the traffic with expert skill. Blessed with the ability to turn water into wine, and chromosomes into people, she embraces every obstacle with passion and wonder. As soft as velvet, and as smooth as jade, she is the reason why brutish men are transformed into knaves. Le donne, mujeres, aurat— in any language she is beautiful. And for her very existence, I am eternally grateful.

She walks with her head held higher than the skyscrapers that kiss the sky. Finally able to live her truth, her hazel eyes have no more glitter tears to cry. Sometimes strangers can be crude, but often they just seem surprised. Her name and identity give her strength, and fill her with such pride.

I. I lay wide open awaiting your embrace. Like the solitude of the ocean, I am still and ready. Float into me and make waves. Create ripples as you run your finger along the surface. As we ebb and flow in our shared time together, you must promise not to hurt me. Do not disturb my rhythm—don't desert me. On the off chance that you should fail, I offer you a single warning: feed me knives, and I will rust along the edges of your dreams. Prepare to be shipwrecked if you dare to destroy all that's ever been serene. If not, then carry on, and do not make entire seas out of simple streams.  II. It used to be endearing: her ability to play devil's advocate and remain objective. Not many girls her age, let alone women, could see both sides of every story. She walked a mile in every shoe until she was tired. Danced through gardens with reckless abandon, she was simultaneously as naked as the sun and as mysterious as the moon. We warned her but to no avail, she wouldn't lis...

She has hips like Venus, that ebb and flow, with the rhythm of the sea; her waves wash over me. I seek tranquility in her ocean. Swimming in her to  define my freedom. A body of water like no ofher. She smells of saline  and hard labour. Every breath's an effort,  just like the very air I breathe. Sweet as honey,  she is thick as milk. Despite being blamed  for Eve's original sin, she still weaves through the traffic with expert skill.  Blessed with the ability to turn water into wine, and chromosomes into people, she embraces every obstacle with passion and wonder. As soft as velvet, and as smooth as jade, she is the reason why brutish men are  transformed into knaves.  Le donne, mujeres, aurat— in any language she is beautiful. And for her very existence, I am eternally grateful.