clay
a friend named me ishrat joy
i tell him how my hands are red
with blood instead
of henna on eid
how i want to lift the veil
between me and myself
how the syllables of grief
in my own name
graze against my palms
i am three
and i take my father’s razor
and peel off my chin
and gaze in the mirror
i am nineteen
and i take the pen knife
and sculpt my wrists
and gaze in the mirror
horns of a ram
heart of a lamb
skin taut around the scarecrow
bound to the ground
i morph between man
and woman
and some days i am one
with the sun
but the sky
does not call me by any name
to be here nor there
will the earth still make room
for a body like mine
or will i have to be
carved into clay and stone
two bullets perched
inside the skull
i wait for the third
and maybe these horns
will bloom bright
into a halo then
§
– Malalai Noor Khan is a poet from Islamabad, Pakistan. She studies English at Capital University of Science and Technology and serves as the creative director of its literary magazine, SPELL. A finalist for the National Youth Poet Laureate of Pakistan in 2025, her poems appear in Jashn: Volume 2. When not writing or drawing, she collects bones or roams Red Dead Redemption. More of her work lives at malalaikhan.com.
Disclaimer:
The views and opinions expressed at Chowk are solely those of the contributors and do not necessarily reflect the opinions and beliefs of the website, its affiliates, or any persons associated with them.