listen,
the sky can only be grey with envy. it never learned
the colors it takes to split monochrome. there's a pigment
shower breaking day into a billion stars. I can only see it
with your eyes open. listen,
night has never broken the way dawn has. the Poles
don't melt the way I have. laughter belting like butter
between hot toast. how have you made a giggle so
brittle sonorous? listen, I sound like a song when you
look. does four pm make me look better or does the sun
just do you favours? I promise myself there is a life out
in the wild where our fingers brushed each other's to sleep.
listen,
there is a forest out there so humid, it makes our hugs
feel like ghost rain. listen, your neck is a crevice I can fit
in but won't. the sky has never broken but it's blue like
it doesn't know a day without ache. listen, I hear your ache.
I hear your bones scream under the weight of your head
most days and while the world tips off its axis, I promise
there is a day out there with smiles that feel like winter sun.
there is bliss beyond the likes of which children don't know.
listen, I will always listen for the sound of your breathing
like the beating of my own heart; if I can convince myself.
of your lungs, I can be sure of my own thready pulse.
listen, my own, this wrist is a crucifixion too late
but it sings. it sings. it sings while our fingers listen.
More
We have never said, "I love you more."
Through insomnia-relieving screens
we helped love transcend from visible light
to sound for five years--
synesthesia we never mind
reminding us of ourselves.
We always say, "I love you
so loud," like the kinds of beating hearts
we have evolved with worry and change;
I hear your chest heave more
than your knees unlocking and age
singing through them;
perhaps, even louder than the breathing
hills here
Through insomnia-relieving screens
we helped love transcend from visible light
to sound for five years--
synesthesia we never mind
reminding us of ourselves.
We always say, "I love you
so loud," like the kinds of beating hearts
we have evolved with worry and change;
I hear your chest heave more
than your knees unlocking and age
singing through them;
perhaps, even louder than the breathing
hills here
Orooj-e-Zafar is a storyteller/spoken word poet based in Islamabad, Pakistan. Her work explores the human condition, more specifically unabridged themes of trauma, mental health, reclamation and emotional resilience and has been widely published online in places such as Words Dance, Quail Bell Magazine, Off the Coast, Rufous City Review and Up the Staircase Quarterly. Offline, Orooj performs at local and national events like TEDx PIEAS and Islamabad Literature Festival 2017. She was also the recipient of the second annual Judith Khan Memorial Poetry Prize, the winner of Where Are You Press Manuscript Contest 2016, and the author of HOME AND OTHER DEBRIS, her debut chapbook released in July 2017.
