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Jaweria Tariq Poem
Maybe it’s when they are born that their heart shows signs of fault.
That instead of pumping red, they pump blue into the body of steel.
Maybe when they take their first breathes, some specs of evil enter their little lungs,
Settling into the lining, only to grow every year.
When the doctor first sees them, he realises what type they are, her hands in a constant urge to throw the child into the plastic waste bag.
But the mothers of them don’t see this, and take into their arms the spawns of the devil.
Nurturing and caring, thinking that maybe if she acts like she doesn’t know, she can love this thing.
But her deepest heart knows too well that throwing it away or removing it from the face of the earth would be better for the world.
But her like many make the mistake thinking this is their child whom they can love despite their flaws.
Flaws. To say, they aren’t, but instead a stamp from the devil at birth.
When god moulded their tiny figures, snatched away by the devil, who fired its tail to smack a brand onto its kin.
So as like their destiny, they grow up to be the devil, their mothers should’ve tied them to some metal pole, like one does to dogs to keep them away from the untarnished children.
But again they are blinded by a false reality, thinking anyone could ever love these things.
They are let loose into a beautiful world, only to disrupt everything.
When going into school, banding with others of their kind, who are many.
Many were birthed into the world, whence evil was let in.
So now to the one kid who still hasn’t been destroyed,
They reach their claws down her throat, pulling out the red still- beating heart, throbbing and pulsating- to compare to their own shrivelled mess of a heart.
They take the last of the untarnished, destroyed and then turned blue.
Copyright © Jaweria Tariq | Year Posted 2020
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Jaweria Tariq Poem
Why do you care so much for how I look?
Is it so that I can be attractive enough to get married?
I wish sometimes that you would care about my life as much as you care about my weight.
Just for one day I want to be able to look directly in the mirror and not peak glances. Because of your words, mother, I can no longer see myself in the reflection.
Just for one day, I want to be able to eat without hiding. Thinking its something to be guilty of, purging any food which accidently slips down my throat.
Because of your words mother, I cry myself to sleep hoping in the morning Ill become thinner.
If tears could equate to weight, id be as light as a feather.
Just for one day I wish I could walk with confidence and not have to cover myself in shrouds to hide my fat.
If my fat melted away, would I be perfect? Even remotely pretty?
You told me, that my hair is the only thing that even makes my face remotely attractive.
Do you remember? How you called me a cow and wondered why you had birthed me who couldn’t be thin like your other girls.
Oh god I would have wished that if I were to hear these things growing up, that I hadn’t been born.
Mother, do you know that I cry when I tell you I’m revising.
And I wish sometimes that you would find out. But still you would laugh at me.
At why I cry over this, just like everyone.
Mother, I thought u are supposed to be my shield from the outside world, but instead it feels like I, myself am my own shield, and you are the one shooting me.
Is it too much to ask, for you to at least not batter me for the way I look?
You birthed me, yet it is hard to think that.
“if I were an enemy, I would say you are fine, but since I’m your mother I have to be rude about it.” This is how you justify your words. Expecting that the whole day I cried is justified by this.
No mother, even my enemy wouldn’t say what you say. My enemy looks at you and thinks you are a greater enemy.
I wish to be swallowed by the layers of my fat, so that at least you are relieved of this burden.
Tell me, mother, who will you shame once I’m gone?
Copyright © Jaweria Tariq | Year Posted 2020
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Jaweria Tariq Poem
Oh you! You sick man!
Seeing me so low from you makes you grin.
I crawl on my knees, you laugh.
Is it that enjoyable to see my pain?
Sure, I won’t crack, I’m not like them.
Ill show you. I may not be physically stronger than you,
But my mind, oh my mind! Yours is nothing compared to mine.
I step on it, crush its measly cracks.
Oh you! Sick man!
You may be stronger than me,
But I am wiser than you.
I wield the weapon of a pen and paper,
Which is stronger than your kick, punch and love.
I spit at your manliness; I smile at my womanhood.
Seems like they both need new definitions.
Copyright © Jaweria Tariq | Year Posted 2020
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Jaweria Tariq Poem
Sometimes I contemplate the possibility of my life changing forever.
Waking up one day to find I am a few pounds lighter, a few inches taller.
To go to the mirror and see a face which is as radiant as the bright sky.
I sometimes wonder what would have happened differently if I had chosen the other path,
Would I still be so alive as now?
Feeling the pumping in my veins, along my chest like a million butterfly wings.
The euphoria following this feeling of being alive.
An abundance of maroon, yellow and magenta leaves fall in my mind,
Like when one sees a beautiful sight unexplainable by words,
The epiphany of the world which stands at my feet.
If my eyes could take pictures, id store a dozen in my mind.
If I had turned around that one time, walked a little faster, skipped a little higher,
Would anything change?
Surely swimming in the lake of one love is easy, is it not?
As I fall, letting every limb fall loose, into the lake below: the calm waters turn to such spikes that prick my skin yet don’t stab my heart.
In a trance, in between life and death, love and hate.
For loving someone is like a lake which harnesses calm waters which deceive.
Deceive enough so that you are ready to dive deep.
But now, when I am in the middle of this love nor hate, tell me what can I do.
Like a serpent you whispered into my ear, such sweat whispers.
Making my skin crawl, hairs on my arm risen.
You led me to the cacophony which I desired, the apple that I bit; whilst I was lost, you stared at me.
Letting me fall so low so that you could stay above.
I still raise my hand hoping that you could pull me to change.
Is it possible? For me to wake up different?
No need to live the sick lies and fake loves, ill finally let go, finally, I hope.
Copyright © Jaweria Tariq | Year Posted 2020
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Jaweria Tariq Poem
One day, she had found herself old enough to hold her dad's pen,
And scribble onto a piece of paper, as her dad had done so.
But as she began, and to say it was her first time, her hand moved uncontrollably.
Like sand, Words fell out onto the paper, which she arranged, now it was important to know:
This was a time, she shouldn't have held a pen so proud
So one might question why she had thought aloud.
Onto the paper she scribbled like a maniac, hungry for words,
But soon she found herself exhausted and as she looked out, it was already getting dark.
Reading over it her dad's heart felt a pain sharp like swords
Etching into his skin, one crime she had done, which he knew wasn't right.
So one might begin to question her dad, as to why he left his pen lying around,
When he knew it wasn't for everyone to pick up to give one anger profound.
But as the night grew from twilight, he decided to go to his daughter who sat out in the garden,
She had held her own pen now, staring dazzled onto the night sky, stars gleaming proudly.
As he saw her soft smile, his before soft, tender heart started to harden.
What he felt that day, wasn't any more than a feeling of great despair, to learn his daughter had rebelled.
“What is it that you look for in the skies? It isn't for you to do so go inside and do what you should,
What is expected of you girls to do.”
So she cried that night, her newly found passion destroyed by such uttered words,
Words, which she had started to adore, as the slip of the tongue.
It was important for her to not look in that direction, and turn back to what she should.
For it was time, where she shouldn't, she couldn't, and mustn't hold a pen so proud,
And love the taste of words, to fill the hungry mind.
And to have a paper say her own thoughts.
Instead, she must leave it to her father, to express the empty words,
As he became so soulless so had his words,
So one might question, what use there must be in listening to this man's words which are without emotion,
As his daughter could be seen in the background (where she belonged)
In a room, doing what a girl must.
Copyright © Jaweria Tariq | Year Posted 2020
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Jaweria Tariq Poem
It falls in elegant crystals, forming blankets of pure white.
The whitest of the white that you have ever seen.
Each flake different to the other, unique in its own way.
The proudest of proud the snow has ever been.
It dances and twirls, landing wherever it may please,
Then melts when touching the warmth of a hand.
The newly formed blanket waits for the steps of children,
To pierce its topmost layer and create footprints as they go.
Round and round, then scrunch them together,
Clumping angelic flakes of white into a compact ball.
Like the glittering remains of angels that may fly through the sky,
Or the tears of a loving god, looking down at humankind.
Tongues are stretched out, under the blue sky,
Of children trying to taste, the taste of the snow.
And as one lands on the small tongue, it melts in delight,
As the child eyes light up, a snowflake I have caught!
But then as the day comes to the end, and the children rush back in,
To their mothers calling for hot coco,
The snow forms another white blanket,
Waiting for the kids to come out again, soon.
Copyright © Jaweria Tariq | Year Posted 2020
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Jaweria Tariq Poem
The shade is nice under the large tree, but once the shade is lost, the wanderer will die.
When the small tree can finally leave the shadow of the larger tree, it can feel the sun’s ray.
But the shadow is comfortable, a part of existence.
Because I live in her shadow, as wonders pass buy and seek her.
They don’t see me, concealed behind her mightiness.
When a villager talked to the small tree, she felt special. He told her how much he liked her.
Until he saw the larger tree and lusted after her. She was the better version.
Because wonderers only ever talked to her so that they could eventually get to the larger shade.
Slowly, slowly, deceiving like in their human nature.
They make her feel special, complimenting her magnificent shade, until they look over and see a shade even better.
So she doesn’t let wanderers take shade under her anymore, because she knows they will eventually leave.
So they hate her, are they wrong to hate? No. let them hate, because she doesn’t feel anymore.
And she won’t let anyone in anymore.
Then call her all you want, being selfish to not let anyone in her shelter. But why do you blame her when she was never valued?
Never complimented for being her own magnificent shade.
Always the lay-under for the large tree. Not its own person.
So why do you say she doesn’t trust you anymore? Because trust is the thing she has lost.
She isn’t the large tree. She is the small tree, whose shade no one likes. (When compared),
She is always number two.
So she doesn’t talk to them anymore, fearing they’ll only value her until they reach their destination.
So don’t say she is selfish, when you are the one that compared her to someone she can’t ever be.
The girl she can never beat. The girl who is better.
Copyright © Jaweria Tariq | Year Posted 2020
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