Category: Poetry
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you, the stranger; or, an extension of an older poem for a spoken word contest
you, the stranger in another’s land—belonging nowhere, yet chained by hand.they bury you deep in a woven shroud:don’t think, don’t look, don’t speak too loud.but a single drop of ink,lets you rise, begin to think.and with paper, you fold your wings—the ones they clipped—into a phoenix.you sing a manifesto to…
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another collection, of course: pt.i
instead of ever writing a complete, coherent collection of poems, i have written fragments i vowed i’d finish but never did. this one revolved around the sea which, ironically, i’ve never seen with my own two near-sighted eyes. i hated seeing it gather dust in my google document and i…
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a collection penned under a mask
pennames aren’t easy to keep up with and i have learnt that only recently. ever since i started writing on the internet and made my amateur works public, which was in September 2020, i have resorted to personas, trying to build some form of an image that would perfectly encapsulate…
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for afghan women
cradled in valleys of bitter pomegranates / where the fruit swells but never ripens / and poppies die before they bloom // faded blue shuttlecocks drift on dusty roads / tossed hither and thither / left to wither / ghosts silhouetted against an indifferent sky // cursed from the womb…
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the show goes on, pt.i
are you not entertained? // the trapdoor creaks beneath your feet / the spotlight overhead blinding in your wide eyes as if inside an interrogation room // cracking jokes for a crowd / long bored, long gone / the silence loud / as night turns to dawn // you keep…
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Light of all Lights
The night knowsof many tearsand the day knowsof many smilesyet the lionessstands her ground,the fair maidenwho never bows.Is there any flamethat can dance with hers?A bright lightthat has the eyes blur.She who walks on fire,she who dreamsamong stars,the lotus amidst ash. Wrote this for a friend ❤ Image not mine,…
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Mirror
malalai, you call your name outlike trying to find a robber at night.you quiver when you hear those syllables spoken, right or wrong.silence feels more innate than language—your lips move like it’s foreign.fear scratches like sandpaper on your tongue,a parched desert that knows nothing, noone.you carry a sickle for a…
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Red Swan
the sun shines crimson over the mountainsidelike the blood of slaughtered animals on akhtar,and i count the trees in the valley,burnt to ash like the grey in my mother’s hair.prayer slips into my tongue and out,the lips dry and bleeding,kneeling on the dying light,red like the poppies that die the…
malalai khan 