community+ poetry

i remember last summer, when it rained the most horrendous rain in Brooklyn, which coincided with the poets coming to my apartment and B wanted a haircut and S gave them their haircut on my porch, and the rest four or five of us flashed lights and cheered them on—and i have forgotten why i am mentioning this at all—just that S decided (read: insisted) on documentation and, when we met later, they told me this is something that they do now.

long story short, they now have a tripod, cam equipment, the EYE, etc etc. oh, and a youtube account.

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maybe it’s the fact i haven’t been in a workshop for five months that is getting to me. writing demands solitude, yes, but more than that, it demands community. communion. companionship. you get the drift.

sadia khatri

—mentor, friend, archiver of grief and love and god—wrote an essay about motherhood and grief for an anthology published by Liberty Books that was censored by the press and never published for its (seemingly) controversial subject matter. their friends and supporters said THAT’S NOT IT. so, here:

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1wzfZbS57Gzm6FMy56WuVmKS8MlSVtSEABYt-Zw4EpP0/edit

an open letter for you to sign against censorship. to demand accountability and explanation from the institution.

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since the beginning of this year, i have been reading Sara Shagufta’s brilliant, haunting work. and most of the poems i have written during this have been in conversation with hers.

here’s one of them i wrote in a workshop session with Alif se Yeh at H’s dimly lit apartment, discussing fire, agni, aag.

آج میں نے کافی بجلی چرا ئی

پھر بھی وہ باقی رہی

میں آگ چراتی ہوں

تو خود آدھی ہوجاتی ہوں

مٹی کی بارش مٹی برساتی ہے

آگ کی بارش بھوک

بھوک کی کوئی بارش نہیں ہوتی

میرے شہر میں قہط طاری ہے

لیکن میں اپنے پیٹ کو چھو کر اسکی بھوک نہیں بجھا سکتی

ہاں، میں اپنے بدن کے کچھ اور عضو کو چھو کر

اسکی بھوک ضرور بجھا سکتی ہوں

مسئلہ بھوک کا نہیں ہے

میں نے آگ کو چھو کر اس کو گواہ بنایا

راکھ کو اپنا جسم بنایا

میں خوش قسمت ہوں کہ یہاں اکیلی ہوں

تم یہاں ہوتے

تو میری بھوک بجھا دیتے

(apologies for the left-alignment. i am technologically inept. moreover, i am also forgetful.)

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stay lit, stay lighting up those around you.