the train howls, a metallic wail slicing through the hush of twilight,
its wheels inching forward, dragging time along with it.
i need to hold you a little longerâ
breathe in the scent of home clinging to your
twist my fingers into its fabric, tear it if i must,
even if the station fractures into a stampede,
the tide of bodies forcing us apart.
the worldâs already in an apocalypseâ
you can see it from my eyes if you donât believe me,
the wreckage smoldering beneath rust-tinted glass,
a quiet ruin reflected in every blink.
and maybe thatâs why they say i have yoursâ
the same swirls of caramel with flecks of rust,
like embers dying in a sea of honey.
but i always needed a mirror to see tears in them,
as if sorrow only made sense when it was mine alone.
i never thought a day would come when i wouldnâtâ
when the glass would shatter,
and the gold would seep into sadness.
i'd get on a plane and fly to you in an hour if you ever called.
when the world collapses around you,
when the sky forgets to hold the sunâ
will you remember to call when you're supposed to run to save your loved ones from falling debris?
will you remember the one 622 miles away?
didn't i leave your world when i first decided to leave this word called âtownâ we add âhomeâ before?
will you forget to remember?
my vision getting blurrier with each passing moment,
like rain sliding down window panes, distorting the world between us.
it's harder nowâto count the freckles on your porcelain skin.
will i ever feel them again beneath the pores of my fingertips?
or will the next time they come under my touch,
my fingers will be cold, cyan, and limp?
i can't leave if you don't promise me they won't.
can you do something about itâ
the spiders that've made a home in my ribs,
spinning webs of quiet dread, tightening around my lungs with each breath?
when fate's already etched seven skies above, immutable and absolute?
in case the weight of my existence cracks the fragile thread of hope?
i need to spit it out of meâ
the first and might-be-the-last "i love you."
but my tongue folds around it,
the words curling inward like a dove trapped in a cage.
i've always had the habit of swallowing them down.
whoâd know better than you?
you, who would rub my back,
soft circles at the dastarkhan, encouraging me to let it all out.
a mess can't afford to create another mess.
& iâiâve always been a splintered thing,
afraid to bleed where you might touch me.
you hold up your tiny toy car in the air, eyes bright with certainty, and say,
"i'll come pick you up and bring you back if you miss me too much!"
i smile, nod, and roll up my seat's window
so you won't see me swallow the lump of grief clogging my throat,
choking down the taste of a goodbye i never agreed to say.
it sits heavy in my stomach, a quiet passenger on this journey.
i'm mourning the days slipping through my fingers like sandâ
the day i wonât be there when you outgrow your favorite shoes (to buy you new ones),
when you scrape your knee learning to ride a bicycle (to band-aid the wound and blow the pain away),
when you first understand what it means to miss someone (to crouch down and open my arms to engulf your running form in them).
sure, iâll come visitâ
but you wonât ever be four years and two days old again.
that grief clings to my ankle like a toddler left hungry,
pulling, tugging, begging me to look his way,
even as the wheels of the car stir me away from you.
do i really have to trade your present for a future
that iâm not even sure exists?
is the road ahead worth the pieces of you iâll lose along the way?
or am i just driving toward the echo of a childhood
iâll only know through phone calls and whatsapp images?
the whites of our mosque gleam under the golden sunlight,
the intricate patterned mats and the cool feeling of the ivory marble
that once soothed the burn of my aching soles.
there's a faded, tiny you and a tiny me sitting on the inside,
relics curled into the corners of my chest.
my right eye aches as the wound from years ago strikes,
melting with the new one,
threatening to spill out as it gets too flooded for my fragile banks to hold back.
i foolishly search for you...
in the meaningless crowd of passerby faces,
hopingâstupidly, achingly... that maybe you'd be one of them.
a fleeting glimpse of you for me, caught in passing,
a wistful glance of me for you, left unnoticed.
if by some mercy it happens...
i'll turn and step onto the ivory floor,
pray a quiet shukrana on the intricate patterns beneath my feet.
but it's foolish, of course.
i realise as i see hope smiling wickedly,
clicking her tongue in mockery.
my toes crisscrossed against index onesâ
an anxious habit you always made fun of.
hope stands above me, at the tallest minaret high in the sky,
holding my wretched heart in her pale hands,
fingers delicately uncurling around the grasp.
i close my eyes as i brace for the impact.
will the fallen shards of it on the road ever sting someone?
my worry flutters weakly through the air
as hope ramp-walks all over it with her pencil heels,
crushing it without even looking down.
when you don't even know of my departure?
so i force my feet to move.
walk past the minaret, past the phantoms, past the cemetery...
where i took a hold of my hope by the neck,
rubbed that cruel smile off her face,
without a prayer, without a stone, without a goodbye.