My love can not be simple

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I write
A little sometimes
A lot other times
Somewhere in the middle
Every once in a while, I write
I remember loving words
In the phonic books they had us read in kindergarten
I remember loving words
In the subtitles that played with the movies I grew up watching
I remember loving words
In the books that break my shelves with their weight now
And the books that flood out onto my bedroom floor
After a splurge at Borders or a thrift book shop or even the book corner at Sikka
When my parents would beg me to please
Make some space
Words don’t need space
They make space
They make space
They make spaces widen
And they furnish them, bursts of tales on my walls,
An unrequited love here, a saga of loss there,
The crest of an empire on one’s pages, the trough of humanity elsewhere
they are the accessory to life and I thrive off them
words are limitless

and I remember always loving them

but now
I’m a little grown
Not old enough to change the world
Like the aunties back home tell me
But old enough to know why my identity
Is so heavy
And why my love can not be simple

You see
I am a brown girl
I grew up in the breezes that rustled the mulberries
In the nerve of my country, my capital, my home
I lounged underneath star-specked, clear, wide skies that
Were beautiful to me
But had so many times been the last thing my countrymen
Throughout the land of the Indus,
would get to see when they were called onto by their Lord
Because some men decided
To spray my country’s fields of cotton
With the pesticide of hate
Of division, of death
Of our leaders fighting amongst themselves
Of women barricaded into their bodies in the peaks in the north
Of young boys, who were supposed to love their home,
Picked apart till they learnt to spite it
With AK 47s

I saw the rice harvests die
More times than I can count
I saw locusts escape the carnage of the
Ruin of our fields
With a plaster of innocence on their face
Held in place
Secured in place
By the invisible, intangible commandment
That the rice will grow back in time
Like they always do
When brown backed men and women with cotton parandas braided into their hair
Will descend upon their family grounds
And sow the seeds again
Until then
The locusts could feed on us
Because
They
Simply
Could

You see I grew up inside a country
My country
That woke up each morning
And couldn’t breathe in the freedom it fought for
It bled for
For 250 years under the boot of men who stole our identities
Shipped them across the Indian ocean
And profited off them when we fell into famines
Of having something, anything, to call our own
Because once we’d gotten our history handed back to us
After toil, after death, after mothers drowned their infants in wells
After daughters strangled themselves with their own brown hands
When the enemy knocked down the locks on their doors under the crescent moon
The colonisers said
You will regret this
We will make you regret this

I grew up
In love with my country
And its ten thousand political fallouts
And failed alliances
And military coups
And the mess it had made of itself in the 70 years from its rebirth
But it was only once I soared up and out and landed here
Did I realise
That people would hate me for this love in my heart

You see they say I’m too young to speak like this
I’m not just young, I am a girl, they keep telling me
They tell me my strength is empowering but it is also
Toxic
But tell me this,
How can I braid back the ropes around my neck
Refasten the chains around the ankles
When that is exactly what my mother’s mother’s mother
And my father’s father’s father
Prayed and traded their lives
For me to never see
Why do you ask this of me
Why do you want me to be
Exactly what our skin defied to leave
Behind in the gallows of our history
How do I stop
This love from pouring out of my sweat glands
And onto my tan, tan skin
The same glands that are right now
Fueling the growth of my people
Along the Indus
Along the stretch of the Thar
Along the apricot farms on the hillsides
Along the army barricades
where my brothers
Are taught to sacrifice for love
How do I stop this love
When my tongue is dripping in the blood-soaked brown soil my grandfather’s feet pounded on
When the only words he knew were
Freedom is waiting for me
It is waiting for me
It is waiting for US
We are free

So when I see someone with a skin on the lighter side of the scale
Tell me I don’t know what I’m talking about
I’ll ask them
To open a history book tonight
That wasn’t published by their own country
I’ll tell them
That from where I come from,
One person’s wounds is everyone’s wounds
And that we might be a flawed people
Nestled in the comfort of being 220 million strong but divided in the headlines of your newspapers
But that when we love,

We burn down empires

We burn down darkness

We burn

And we become the brightest, warmest fire you’ll ever see

My love cannot be simple
For anything
And I like that
And I will go and write that down
On my wrists tonight
The girl fervidly reading phonics in kindergarten
Still smiling somewhere in my skin.’


Written by Shizah Kashif | Cover Photo by videohive.net

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