It is a short, rugged climb
without form, structure
meter or rhyme,
beautiful, barren
or so I think.
Instead of commas,
she uses colons;
A sunny day: A boy: A boy: Young as noon:
Crying: Crying.
A Mother: Helpless:
Seeks: a river: a Lord.
Instead of looking inwards
she looks towards
the ceiling, my face,
her hands—a sundial.
She reads out her verse like a monologue;
A daughter: falling: glasses: black rimmed:
nose: familiar: known.
There’s a world outside of us
where little blue beaked birds beam.
and bodies made of light
often burn.
In moments of disquiet
such revelations of beauty weigh on me;
the sun, the dining, the crease of her palms.
I, who have never known poetry
learn
the patterns of love;
shadow, strawberries, spring, sea—
I am still a child
learning to believe.
–
Ayesha Owais, a poet based in Karachi, was a finalist for the inaugural Pakistan Youth Poet Laureate award. Her poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Jashn: The YPL Anthology, The Arzu Anthology, The Missing Slate, and Lakeer.