for every winter that passes a cloud dies;a flower withers in the deep forest across the lake –
a dream dies and a dream is reborn
girls are born and despite the efforts of men to make more men girls are adamantly raising their heads from between the legs of – women who smile when they hold their baby girl in their arms for the first time; reminders of resurrection. lahore is not a city-
it’s a reminder
of winters
girls lived
men killed
women survived
and trees grew
despite the grotesque
structures that outgrew the tallest trees;
i planted seeds in the kiyaari-
three generations waited
for the seeds to sprout
daughters smiled
nanos pride
my humble sigh and a slight twitch
there was a smile there once
I’m trying to remember how
you took it from my face
this winter I reclaimed it
six months
is half a year
no more and no less-
the rajjab moon
got stuck in my throat last night
and it stayed there
we have only one moon
i have to return it
but its adamant on staying where it is
shining down my oesophagus and lighting my face
stuff facials are made of in sweaty, crowded basement salons
where we pay for beauty
and draw attention to the lines
we so detest
the mark of Time
of a winter after winter after winter