Kash Baloch — Poetry on Identity, Love, and Survival

  Dear warrior, while you weather storms through wars waged against your worth, remember, you have purpose, and come from the deep, cool Earth. Although the sinister & sly may have tried to steal the innocence of your smile, you remain; stand your ground & stay, you are so much more than sorrow, although it seems to be a stain. And when malevolent men manipulate through tactics meant to intimidate you cannot let them conjugate you, for they could never capture the courage that has made you. For you were meant to soar, do not let the rest clip your wings to steal your flight. Fly away, or fight, dear warrior– they could never dim your light.

I was not made to falter; weakness looks better on other men. And every time I hit the ground is just a chance to build my fortress walls anew. When my city crumbles, it does not mean that it will never thrive again. I refuse to listen to the protests of my insecurities that urge I quit while I'm afraid. They may be ferocious beasts, but I will not back down that easily. This time—I choose to live! I will not come undone. So what if I sometimes slip and sprain my resolve, .I know I'm not the only one. The moment has finally arrived where I stand and fight, and face my demons head on. I won't give up, I'll soldier on until I've crossed the finish line. I will stumble forward  long after the race has been won. My late arrival to the ball is no reason to sulk backstage; the show must go on. I choose to live! I won't give in. My stubborn heart will not stop  for anyone. I carry on, I am quite strong. The day has come for me ...

Your strained voice cries out to me, like the sage sitar. It sings a sobering song that transports me through sand. Suddenly, a memory of your loving care becomes so real. I watch, awestruck, as you took my tears then weaved them into cloth. Embroidered with golden silks you pulled from the fabric of your heart. We never had much, but your patience had me convinced you were the palace in which we lived. I exhale—only the warmth of love and adoration escapes from my lungs; in you, we have the stars. Despite the struggle, we only ever tasted the sweet saffron you skillfully slipped into our souls. Shalimar is in you; my mother IS a Taj Mahal. Her every breath's a nectar; it is cardamom's caress. I would reanimate a hundred thousand times just to relive the splendour of her shadow; i t was the sunrise of my lifetime. I would relive every sadness behind my eyes just to breathe the soothing citrus-scented air of her orange grove. I ha...