Migration

Poem By Ishrat Afreen

That silken girl from the tribe of Stones
Had imprisoned herself in the towers of tradition
In a charmed palace of self-deception she sat,
Listening to the flowers sing an epic of loneliness.
The birds kept her amused.Then a gazelle emotion ran into the valley of her soul
Pranced and disappeared into the ravines
This princess of the tribe of Stones, too
Broke every shackle of trust
Seeking that gazelle emotion came
And sadly rested on the banks of the lake of sorrows
Pulling out thorns from the soles of her ego
Her lotus palms blistered, turned into roses.
Creased
Creased was the robe of her thoughts
Bloody, the body of her desires.
She'd left home in the pink of her youth
that silken girl from the tribe of Stones
And had arrived into the tribe of love.

[Translated by Rukhsana Ahmad]

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From the womb of the night
A tiny ray of Light was thus born:
Night uncurled the lovely pink fists of Dawn
read her palm

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This last experience made it clear to me:
despite your talents,
despite being tall and handsome as a man,
you're still a boy

The Dance

The silence
now nags,
and loneliness
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Rose & Cotton

Gold bodies,
the girls toiling in the fields,
turned grey in the summer heat

Cold War

Yellow flowers-loving girl,
how long will you fear the girl inside you;
tell me, how long will you fight yourself?

Dedication

I grew
Taller than my father
And my mother won.