Stalemate
The air is charged with the
Approach of a thunderstorm
I gaze out of the window
At the clouds gathering
On the horizon,
Heavy with expectations
The wind seems to whisper
That I have let people down
The stink of emotions rotting away
In the corners of the room
Makes me wish for the storm
To strike me down
If for nothing else
Then to make me feel something
If for nothing else
Then to replenish my tear ducts
I gaze out of the window
And those clouds are still
Staring darkly at me
But they can’t hurt me
Because I can’t feel anything
It’s a stalemate.
Is it My Fault?
it isn’t madness
to hear voices
all the time
when you feel
watched by the moon
on lonely walks
at midnight
everything seems to
sprout eyes
that watch you
trying to escape
their suggestions
shadows hurry away
from the windows
as you pass by
their chattering is
a constant ringing
in your ears
hands reach out
to paint your skin
in blinding shades of white
to measure your waist
to tell you it’s your fault
you can hear them whispering
behind closed doors
mother passes on
her silence and pain
in this relay race
of generations
meant to be lost
she tells her daughter
that you have to
accept that it’s
your fault
and smile like
you recognize the
frightened girl who
stares back at you
from the mirror.
About the Author:
Maliha Iqbal is a student and writer from Aligarh, India. Many of her short stories, write-ups, letters, and poems have been published in magazines like Livewire (The Wire), Creativity Webzine, Cerebration, Histolit, Countercurrents, Times of India, Freedom Review, ArmChair Journal, Kitaab, Counterview, Good Morning Kashmir, Writers Cafeteria, Café Dissensus, The New Verse News, Borderless Journal, The Palestine Chronicle, The Cadre Journal, and Indian Periodical.
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