Kash Baloch — Poetry on Identity, Love, and Survival

When my moods change without prediction, I withdraw into my shell.  Like an ostrich obstructing its arrest, I plant my head safely into the ground.  Although life has thrown me curveballs, planting many obstacles along my path,  I rose above the rain to reign resilient.  As the sole male heir-apparent born after four, fiercely independent daughters, my parents' religion and culture collided to overwhelm me with a list of duties, and obligations.  Until my father took the downtrodden road for deadbeat dads, creating a strong, empowered single mother out of the waif he left behind. Mom fought hard day in and out, wreaking havoc on the system, her education taught her tolerance, and blessed us with integrity, and wisdom.  Calm prevailed for a short song, until addiction dug its ugly claws into my sister's broken heart.   At twenty-three, her lungs, kidneys, and heart stopped, and set her free from the LUPUS that medical research seemed t...

As an ever-repeated whisper, you are more myth than monolith, mysterious as midnight Mojave-mist, though rumours are the only remaining proof that you even exist. Like legends from less-desperate times, you have always been larger than life; whenever old wives retell the tale, they all agree that you are the reason  for every rhyme. No fairy tale is complete without you, the absence of 'ever-after' is a crime. You are praised in song by swallows, and bleed through every glass of wine. Held on to by the hungry,  you are at home in hope-filled hearts. I pray, now, as my own flame flickers, for your presence through the dark; You—the currency of counted blessings. You—the love that lights the endless sky. Lead me to salvation, and away from anger. Lift me up! So my spirit can finally let go, and learn to fly.

Words wrestle with it present, like a symphony of silence. Downcast eyes drink in every sight to spite desire. Sighs surge through throats-hoarse from swallowed pride. The hurt is heaviest when I've made my mother cry. Disregard disappointment, but you'll still find it  behind every ache inside your weary heart. 

I love you, world wonder— like Shah's love for Noor Jehan erected a Taj Mahal in Agra. Like Mumbai city streets love  the smoky din of rickshaws  during rush hour traffic. Just like Amitabh loved Rekha in timeless Bollywood classics. I would trade it all; every sari, gold bangle, or string of pearl, for a spin around the white  ceramic floors inside the palace of our love.  I would forego a million fragrant jasmine petals just to fill my lungs with  your sweet breath. I am balsam, you are agarwood; our passion ignites in smoke. I bathe in the Ganges of our love; only these waters purify me.

Happiness is the elusive harlot whose face I recognize but rarely see, it evades me like snow fall on a Hawaiian beach.  Although the occasions on which it's revealed itself to me, were fleeting and sporadic, albeit few and far between.   She is the harbinger of hope, the jezebel of joy; evident in strangers' smiles, and the empress of all that we enjoy.  Visible on children's faces, she lives in their laughter too, she is the gatekeeper of good vibrations, as her demeanour is quite infectious, too. Happiness is having your loved ones at your shoulders should you need them, it is igniting their euphoria, and focusing on their fulfillment.  Although her affection takes much effort, her fruits are worth the wait, for once she decides to smile on your fate, her loyalty always remains. Found in the feeling of unconditional love from family pets, you can discover her dancing when there's a spring within your step. Like the radiant sun, she kisses your glowing skin; h...

His every breath, my sustenance; for I am weak without His voice. Humbled by His covenant,  in His worship we rejoice. For God so loved the world, he gave His only begotten son. He has wisdom of every pearl, thy kingdom come, thy will be done. Give us this day our daily bread, His kindness shows us mercy. For our sins, our shepherd bled, of His sacrifice, I am unworthy. The world burns and evil reigns, when will our Saviour come again? Only He can heal my pain; in His name we pray. Amen

It is the appeal of stolen, serene moments during unhuman, late-night hours; in this solitude I rediscover fragments of me, that I'd anxiously been losing.  Insomnia, although nefarious, provides these opportunities for introspection, where I've learned to love the silence, that is as melodious as violins.  Here, amidst all of the violent stimuli that I'd ignored, I reflect on the many lessons through which I've been transformed. I've learned to bite my tongue and eat my acid words; without this realization, my loved ones would have all flown away like frightened birds.  My growth has come through counting blessings; gratitude keeps me grounded. It was in these cathartic sessions, I lost my attachment to material possessions.  Alone time needn't feel lonely, it recentres our soul, reminding us to keep evolving, for it's the secret to becoming whole.

As noble as Noor Jahan,  she nestles, like the fragrant nectar  of nourishing neem.  Unbeknownst to her,  her pheromenes emit steam that lures many suitors. With the exact majesty  of her maharani predecessors, she silently seduces from the sanctity of her sequined settee. 

It is blurred lines and electric shock; when your brain declares war on your world, unleashing an endless barrage of twists and turns.  Like a tyrant foaming at the mouth for power, it attacks you from behind then tries to tell you that it loves you.  Running on empty, the highs soar through pastel skies transforming you into superman; with serotonin as your sole disguise. Shopping sprees take your hard earned money turning it to dust; your reality bursts into flames, your thoughts begin to rust.  Like the walking dead, your lack of sleep takes the lead, treating paranoia like an honoured guest.  Anxiety, conspiracy, and chaos hold seats in the polluted parliament inside your head, each chipping away at your sanity, pushing you closer to the edge.  At the brink of madness, betrayal holds secret meetings with despair, causing your only light to flicker, before it finally fails.

Reaching for a light switch as it  transforms into a ferocious beast,  words fly from my chaotic mind, at record speed, then slip out  from between artificial teeth. I boil water in egg yolk,  then eat a banana peel,  put my pants on backwards,  and fail to separate what's fake  from what I once knew to be real.  Elvis wails as Ella croons inside my head, the whole day through, and I sit, confused about the way  that Billie Holiday could somehow sing the colour blues. Horns outside my window transport me back to safari elephants, as I become convinced that they've returned to give me a taste of my own medicine. In my return to innocence, where everything old is new, I stop to smell the flour, for life is far too short to spend  each day retightening loose screws.

Carrying her sorrows in silken sac, unwavering whilst weaving wildly. Under a sombre sun, or callous cloud, she spits, and hisses; feeling jilted. Centuries since she's  been hopeful; eight eyes, wide open,  filled with wonder. Mourning every almost happy ending, crushed as she counts  one less blessing . Scarlet letters sealed  her fate as a spinster, wrongfully accused  of eating men for dinner. Society classified her as  a sinner, once jade, emerald,  but now black widow. So she spun her salience armed for battle; no army could have anticipated her arrival. Adorned in a coat made of her ex-lovers. Hell hath no fury like the venom inside her.