At the Aesthetician’s
I was at a facial appointment, truly lux
a gift from my older brother
when I remembered it was today:
my sister’s birthday
My face stony and stoic
eyes closed: I was so composed
only a wince a millisecond long
My feelings are not for display to any aesthetician
not for a teary tribute on Instagram stories
I did not WhatsApp my closest group chat
It was hardest being a teen
feeling ever awkward and unloved
Could I have avoided psychosis
if I had inhaled and exhaled
beautiful words?
It has been 90 days since my last poem
I will write quietly now
that I love her, and the loss has been colossal
that our souls are infinite, and she was angelic
that I have healed my guilt of I-could-have-done-more
and against this ongoing genocide
that deserves every attention, prayer, action
what should not be forgotten is
to feel
The Storyteller
He was his father’s helper in their school of sorts—
no wonder he recites the Quran
like a dream
like music
like waves, water
He proudly shares his father’s kindness,
teaching children—no fees, only discipline,
moving his hand, the rod ever ready,
but the kids still loved the lessons,
and you could tell he did too;
he grinned his way through each story
His family had lived in a kampung,
caring for sheep and goats—
there was even a dog to protect
their land and its many, many fruits,
but no monkeys though—you think monkeys would dare come near?
There was that rod again!
And then there came the Japanese war,
a tough time.
He repeated a curse word in Japanese that he remembered;
it was funny.
It made the difficult memory lighter for me
In one sitting he told this story
about six times.
I was not bored;
it was enough to see light in his eyes,
and the way his whole body moved with vigour—
how he made me giggle!
Dear Pak Cik, do not care
what you are deemed to be diagnosed with:
you remember your past excellently;
it is other people,
not excluding myself,
we are the ones who forget.
But with you—
what an honour,
what a delight.
My Ambition at Ten
My ambition at ten was to be a gardener
patient, tenderly attending to her babies
Green everywhere, I recite silent salawat
melt the hearts of plants and they lean to my touch
Children giggle, play tag here, barefoot
The lush grass energises them – zest!
Joy spreads radiates illuminates, they see rainbows here
Puddle-adventure, squealing skipping
Is it this lovely or is it their delighted imagination?
Even when it rains the rhythmic drops are the sound of Mercy
I can almost see rivers running underneath
In the sea of aches do not lose sight of your dreams
Artwork Courtesy of Reda Khalil
