Rah Naqvi b. 1996

Come home my love,
I will feed you my love,
In the rhythm of mortar & pestle meeting,
Released will be,
scent from scent,
scent from time spent,
scent from spelt word,
scent from shelled foes,
released will be,
frigid hearts from distances manmade,
tearing lands, sisters hand in hand,
rooted, to be uprooted
made free from body,
released by force,
fill this air with scents of those
In merging of these rivers, complex are these flavours,
Showing you our care, granting you a chance,
be witness to our flare,
Make no mistake,
I nurture my fate,
accepting those, who stood and watched us being exiled from ‘home’
seeking acceptance, passports to a home I was birthed in,
validation of blood that has travelled its distance,
in generations of existence,
my resistance, in being accepted?
In the durational labour of its becoming,
I will replenish broken bonds,
justify the depths of her tired eyes,
pools of wrinkling skin,
and the soreness of her feet,
my mother, she will continue to welcome your stay,
In my fathers discomfort of conversing,
he will offer you his share,
another day,
a day less,
one without commute,
today he can accept,
today he is a muslim
he can rest,
My father, an atheist,
on all days, except Eid,
and how religiously he waits for this day off, how religiously he eats his share
‘Mozzie’, 'laden', ‘burkhewaali', ‘sharam nahi aati'?
laden with stories written about us, of us, without us,
I wish to be heard, to be touched, to be loved,
I wish to scream, live in reckless vanity, without remorse,
I wish to be known, an identity unknown, one that I define,
yet to be refined,
an unthreatened word, held without fear,
one that wasn't written for me, by a world believing in another,
let this grain of saffron stained rice, reflect our kinship,
as you see this, one you can trust,
one you can accept,
one that exists without uproar,
voiceless, to please,
resting, but to never remain.