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...