By Thahaani Hashir

A wave of unending grief  

Swept past the tip of my fingers; 

Dripping onto the forgotten mosaic, 

As I tried to hold the pleats  

To my grandmother’s saree,  

A useless aid  

To her trembling hands. 

A wave of unbearable vulnerability  

Shone like rust  

Beneath my eyelids 

As I hid behind the shawl; 

A testimony to my roots 

I’d tried so desperately 

To rip myself out of. 

Rather, ripped out of. 

Was I disgusted 

By the mold in the olding corners  

Or by my absolute inability  

To handle normality? 

Unbelonging there, 

Unbelonging here. 

What is homeland 

If not where flowers of others bloom 

And flowers of yours wilt, 

Wilt,  

And wilt.