Amna Farooqi

Oh.

it doesn't hurt,

the reconstructing of my heart,

as you pull out a vein,

with a gentle tremble in your hand,

as you tear apart a muscle,

with a careful sigh,

and as you stitch it all back up,

with reverent fear in your eye,

and then,

everything comes back alive,

with a feeling of -

unlearning through learning;

and I find,

my pulse slowing down,

my breath evening out,

and my eyes closing down

and-

oh,

I find myself on the brink of asleep.

Maybe our strings of fate pulled us in,

so that we meet again at a future class reunion,

And you see the ring on my hand,

And I feel the regret in your heart,

And we, flash by like a film reel,

With no forever in sight.

Fate, you're a cruel storyteller,

I begged for sincerity,

only for it to long for me from afar,

This thing in my heart,

In the smallest, deepest crevice,

Wants to stand on a cliff,

& scream your name.

Can you perhaps predict love?

Within a few moments?

In a couple of instances?

When two singular universes held within two orbs collide?

My heart calls out to you,

My mind regrets you,

You echo in my chest, around my ribcage,

At the cusp of summer and spring,

I shed another layer of skin,

I hope she feels peace,

Knowing her tired bones have finally found rest,

On my grave plant flowers that'll flourish,

& once I awake from slumber,

I shall run through this garden,

With no fear of dirt on my feet,

Or the pin-prick of grass as I lay,

Or the blinding rays of the sun as I stare at it unabashedly,

This constellation of Warplanes,

Bury it into bloom - My Grave of Hope,

This one is special. 

Happy Birthday.

Last year, I wrote something to you on your birthday, and this year I continue the tradition.

How do I start? Well for starters, I remember you in bits and pieces, and I am proud to say, *drumroll please*, I am not angry at you, nor at this thing called “my feelings for you”nor myself (a big deal).

I’ve learned to take it slow. To embrace this lavender haze.

There’s a new me on the horizon and she doesn’t fear love, and she embraces the need for it. I’d love to hold someone’s hand in this life and walk through it. I’d love to share a bed, split the rent and serenade songs with someone.

Papa told me “Even if it’s imperfect, it’s yours” and it made me reflect on all my relationships and even if flawed, how much I cherished them.

One day, I hope to embrace my future partner the same way.

For a second, in your eyes I felt destiny take over me. The world was kind that day, the breeze was gentle and for a second, just a second two souls collided.

Even if I don’t ever get to call you “lover of mine”, I hope you know, in my mind’s eye you always stand tall and shining. That even if not forever, I felt proximity to you. 

Maybe in an alternate universe, if not in this one, I’ll love you like my 21 year old self would have wanted. That maybe in that Universe, we own a high rise New York apartment, and in the intimacy of twilight I read this letter out to you, cringing.

Maybe, someday, or in some life we are lovers- Our slates are clean, just twin earth signs, four brown eyes.

Maybe you’re my Jake Gyllenhall or Maybe my Joe Alwyn.

Okay now, I am just finding excuses to write to you.

Once again, Happy Birthday.

Dear Naanu, if Time was circular,

I would always go back to,

Spring in Muscat, picking bougainvilleas with you,

and playing hide and seek, just us two.

I’d go back to your house during summer,

My brothers, with heroic tales every night,

And your melodic lullabies to sleep to.

To Monsoon, in your evergreen garden,

splashing in puddles, your sunshine smile,

and our laughter drenched in an innocent hue.

I’d go back to winter, the scent of maple syrup in the air,

with overnight ludo, and your warmth,

The only thing true.

Dear Naanu, if Eternity exists,

I would spend it all with you.

Words are a risky bet. 

Writing, a dance precarious.

Where is the balance between risking it all and finding yourself?

Where do I draw the line between you and I?

How I do fill in the gaps between us?

Where do I pause, 

Where do I stop. 

But most importantly, where do i begin?

It’s the beginning of the end,

because counting the distance between us,

while you lay on the opposite side of the bed,

seems larger to me than all our years together.

It’s the beginning of the end,

because all your restrained glances,

and deep frowns weigh heavy on me,

than your lovesick gaze and our shy dances.

Its the beginning of the end,

and Instead of letting go,

Amma, You carried me for months,

And now I carry your burden,

through every city, I pass,

In every home, I’ve ever lived in,

and with every person, I’ve loved.

This is your legacy,

I quietly, patiently and obediently carry,

hoping for one day when I am not gasping for breath,