She
It’s that time
When history is written in streams
In the space between breasts
In the space between thighs
In the space between eyes
The ebb and tide
Follow the flow
In the space between grandma’s wrinkles
In the space between mother’s arms
In the space between ovaries
A past makes place
For a future
I open book covers
And talk to myself
With Virginia Woolf
I touch myself
With Anais Nin
I fly together
With Erica Jong
I fight
With Ayn Rand
I clasp my hands
With Toni Morrison
I feel at home
With Fehmida Riaz
Tracy Chapman, Madonna,
Geeta Dutt, Reshma
Are the voices I hear
In my head
Frida Kahlo, Amrita Shergill
Paint my mind, my body
The woman who sells her body
The woman who has scars on her body
The woman who sells dreams
The woman who muffles screams
The woman who carries the weight
Of sand on her head
For homes we live in
The woman who sits
In conference halls
And decides the fate of money
I meet them all
In the soaking sponge of memory
Even my lipstick is not in limbo
It puckers my mouth
As I speak
And shout
Hear me out
As the matte turns to gloss
With saliva
Miraculously swallowing
A parched throat
It’s that time
When history is written in streams
Mine flowing in yours
The colour of our hair, eyes, skin
Different
The shade of thoughts, feelings, biases
Different
In the stream we see our rippling images
Leaving pebbles to dry
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Dedicated to Women's History Month
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Published in Poets' Basement, Counterpunch
She writes with anguish and pessimism, a journey into hearts of darkness with no light at the end of that distorted prism, mainly because as she astutely observes, “every few years Pakistan writes a new fiction” to keep the embers alive. ”
—India Today
About Farzana
To be categorised is near-death. It would be nice to say that one is a literary vagabond, but it just does not convey fully the sense of rootlessness and ruthlessness one strives for constantly.
Have written opinion pieces, feature articles and interviews for...
Connections
Farzana’s Favorite Books
Every writer, besides the ones I have listed, who has had something to convey that leaves me with the taste of bitter chocolate...that I like.
Painting with Words
Farzana,
I cannot keep praising you. (Wait. Yes I can.)
Your poetry is exquisite. Poetry is the most artful of writing and it is in yours, that I think I catch a glimpse of who you are. But perhaps, it's only my id, my interpretation, my poetic need to paint you with my own words, that leads me to this, ah yes, poetic conclusion.
Jules
Poetic conclusion
Jules:
Before I thank you, poetry is what I feel closest to although it is the least I share publicly.
You say, "Poetry is the most artful of writing", and while much of it is, I really don't think it out. I certainly do not time myself, but I rarely alter anything and it is written at one go. In that, it is artless. I suppose it is like tapping your feet to music if you have rhythm in you. That's the only way I can explain the praise you have showered me with.
So, yes, thank you!
~F