With Qabbani in my heart and my Lover on my mind, I wrote:

I will drench you in a monsoon of summer poetry so that every time you see the sun you yearn for rain and think of me. 

Diaspora Love

I walk everywhere in chains but in your heart I roam free. I come and go as I please, and your heart still beats for me. 

But let’s not pretend that I live in this place of dreams. I live in a world where there is no home for me. 

The land beneath my feet is ruled by my enemies. They stole my sisters’ crowns the same way they banished me. 

Now I have no kingdom that awaits my return, nor any memories to grieve. But still I pack my things to find the other parts of me. 

So in your heart of hearts you built a house, somewhere to rest and breath. And in this house lives our love. You, my chains, and me. 

My Hijab Bleeds in Colour

My hijab bleeds in colour. Black ink seeps through the pages that de-veil us. My hijab bleeds in colour. Silver bullets pierce our hearts that house us. My hijab bleeds in colour. Technicolour stitches run through our lips to silence us. My hijab bleeds in colour. Yellow crescents appear on our flags to restrain us. My hijab bleeds in colour. Ivory theories of freedom seek to contain us. My hijab bleeds in colour. White noise of hate that deplete us. My hijab bleeds in colour. My hijab bleeds in colour. My hijab bleeds in colour

Tongue

You told me that my tongue can do magic tricks. It can roll around the flesh of loneliness and make solitude disappear. It can stoke a fire from the heat between our bodies. It can read you said. My tongue can read your mind until your head starts spinning. You told me that my tongue can do magic tricks. 

But let me tell you what my tongue can do. 

My tongue rolls. It rolls like the thunder of bombs over my mother’s village. My tongue stokes a furnace that gives warmth to the Bangla that spills from my lips. My tongue reads Tagore. My tongue does more.

My tongue remembers. My tongue remembers the murder of unarmed dreams in Dhaka. My tongue speaks of the genocidal rape of my grandmothers. My tongue tastes. My tongue tastes of blood mixed with water that streams through Podha, Meghna, and Jomunna. My tongue sustains a language that my father would whisper to my mother to make her melt. My tongue ties. My tongue is tied by borders that neither you nor I can erase, yet somehow we find ourselves in this place where you say that my tongue can do magic tricks.

Now you know why.

Divine Gaze

Gaze after gaze you rest your eyes upon me as if I were worthy of being your beloved. 

As if you only see the fire of my desire for your embrace but turn a blind eye to how it wanes. As if there was no one else calling your name to drown out my

 la illaha ila Allah. 

My God, gaze after gaze you rest your eyes upon me as if I were worthy of being your beloved.