Your lips turn up
The lines clearly visible
The room brightens up
The day starts off great
The goose bumps travel the length of my arm
Perfect amount of warm and cold
I welcome the sun
Open my arms wide
Spread my fingers forward
The chipped nail polish
That explains my life
A false impression
Of whom I am
Or who I may be
The tears that flow without pause
The light that blurs reality
And I begin to wonder
Will life always be
The climb so strenuous
The fall so effortless
The bruises that remain
But still there
Holding on till the last breath
Till the last ounce of pain is acquired
The colour I love
My past laden with enough
The brush strokes were free
But as they dry
The sound faint
The sight clear
I could use a fairy godmother
Right about now…
My brain hurts
My shoulders droop from all the stress
How much longer before i combust for good?
Not the breakdown i’m anticipating any day now
But the good, fun kind
Just away from home, from family, from school
I’m starting to think
Been doing that a lot
More than usual, actually
That this year isn’t exactly starting off great *foreshadowing, maybe*
And then this country
Always manages to contradict its plans with mine
I need to take a breather
A long hibernation
Laugh till my insides hurt
Haven’t really done that without thinking about other things
Could be hereditary (they actually are without a doubt)
Or caused by stress
That everyone fails to understand
Why do words define everything?
Why won’t they just look at me and see?
I don’t want to convey it to them
They should understand!
Tears they ignore
I need a change
A long never-ending, vacation.
When it rains, all is well. The aroma of water and grass after a dry spell wafts in the cool air and instantly makes you sigh. You walk out in the garden while the world around bathes under the natural shower. You open your mouth and drink the sweet nectar of heaven. Even the world slows down and pauses to admire the beauty, even if they silently curse the rain from within. All you can do is let your hair down. For Karachi is not known for its frequent rains.
Only when you walk in shivering and wet, do you notice the pakoras waiting for you. There is a slight sizzle to them and their glistening bodies, drowned in oil, lie under the fluorescent light lit above. The scent of mint and yoghurt are ever present because you know that pakoras without chutney are incomplete.
You run to grab a golden jewel before they all finish. Dunked in the chutney you pop the first one in your mouth and relish in the taste. Your eyes close and a dreamy look crosses your face. Then you remember to chew.
The cumin tastes nutty and earthy with a pungent smell, which makes you salivate further. The potato and onion churn around in your mouth and the gram flour accentuates the savory taste. But, there is a familiar zest to it. And you immediately know what it is. Nani. Her hands are magic when it comes to pakoras and you can very well taste her love in them.
Rainy days at your grandmother’s house are treasured memories. The pakoras may be bittersweet but the only missing ingredient is your grandmother and those rainy days that greet in numbers so small. Once in a blue moon.