Hey guys, sorry I've been a little bit MIA - I've been reminiscing and trying to get my life in order (basically catching up on all the school work I neglected this summer). Anyway, this particular piece has been lying around on my computer for a while now, it started off as a journal entry and slowly bloomed into a letter to none other than the big, bad, awesome city of Karachi. I'm so excited to introduce this as a series on my blog - so here it is; Love Letters To My City.
Also a little side-note: Some people have pointed out that some of my writing about Karachi is a bit negative, and I get it, it totally is but that's what I'm trying to depict - my version of reality in that dangerous yet beautiful city. I love that city with every fiber of my being but its important to me as a writer that above all I write what I feel is my version of the truth and that's the Karachi I see- the Karachi that will fall seven times, stand up eight (Japanese proverb).
That is my Karachi.
The first time my sister saw stars she thought the world was ending.
In Karachi everything is breathing, alive – the cars exhaling exhaust fumes, factories exhaling thick smoke, our lungs exhaling ashes. As we exhale, the sky inhales. Coughs out polluted sunsets with swirls of burnt oranges and strawberry pink hues – almost worth dying for, right? At night the Karachi sky; your sky suffocates the stars until all that’s left are distant blurs and the blaze of street lamps guiding us home.
The girl with caramel hair and pink glasses in my biology class asked me why I don’t wear a seat belt in the car.
I leaned over and whispered, “honey, where I’m from there are worse ways to die”
These days anger comes easy to you,
Wraps itself around your body like your mother's silk scarf.
Every breath you take is self-destructive,
Sleep easy darling,
dream of velvet skies and Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough flavored clouds
Hold on to the sound of the ocean drumming in your ears,
Capture the salt on your skin,
Sand grains on your eyelashes,
Waves beating against your rib cage,
Crack open your spine and let the world hear you scream.
You are not made of spun glass or crystal -
This heart of yours is cosmic nebula, black hole - exploding, absorbing, screaming.
This is not your destruction; this is your rebirth-
(probably the most cliche poem I've ever written)