echo Heritage
by Zara Sofea
overflowing in me is
a realisation i had
my body thrown into this otherworldly matter
with a violence so great
a force big enough to expel
the pollution that almost destroyed me
battered me, scarred me
the fear of being “undesirable”
against the force i try but fail to name
reminding me that i am made up of
love-stained traces of the past
marks that were never meant to be forgotten
remnants of who we once were—
a girl, my grandmother,
whose nose is button shaped like mine
i wish to love her more
a boy, somewhere in the debris of the past
whose big ears shaped like mine
deserved to be loved more
and i am its vessel
this little strange thing
i am its vessel
i blurt out loud, hands trembling
as i look them in the mirror
there is a pause,
then i give them a gentle embrace
worth thousands
of years
When We Emerge From the Dirt
by Zara Sofea
i.
The big machine wants us in knots,
But it wants us alive as well
A pretty lace-tied gift adorned with living breathing scars
Shards of glass etched into our tracheae, with each piece angled precisely
The relentless push and pull, over and over in a monotonous cycle
It knows very well how much we hurt
What it doesn’t know is that it cannot stop the blood from seeping through
Crawling through the gaps
Like earthworms in the cold night rain
ii.
My vain, selfish grief engendered by it all
The corner of my heart that wishes for a way in
Bitterness and repulsion entwined,
Forming an organ of its own
Listen, I know you hope for another way
The day your lies face erosion
And all envy dies
Eventually,
Eventually,
You’ll able to go to the grave without worrying over how you look fossilized
And the world will finally be silent
iii.
I am made to be the gardener, sculptor, and artist of my body
All that is asked of me, with no reason speakable
But there are times I yearn to plant something unsightly, and care for it too much
To sculpt a mess of things, and love it regardless
To speak incoherently, and still be understood
Until I become the earthworm writhing in the ground, in all of its little splendour
Because there is, I think, still joy left for those who walk away from the big machine
A Burial
by Natasha
In the morning we walk down to the river,
The light of the silence wraps us like mourning shawls
On our already heavy shoulders,
The shoulders on which we carry the wooden box,
Weighing down on us with its emptiness,
We walk with it on us all morning.
Down the river the soil puckers up,
Ready to receive, ready to take in,
They inhale the morning dew
And they swell up to meet us,
Wooden box already down,
We sing our goodbyes.
Goodbye to the unspoken nights
Of starving and pinching and pulling,
Of the snipping and the slapping,
Of handheld mirrors and ugly truths,
Of the crashing of a million cymbals
And the stifled screams and tears,
The realization that the cup will never fill
No matter how much the water pours.
We cover the top with the soil,
From our bodies we grab handfuls of,
From the stubborn curls of our hairs,
From the celestial stars dotting our dark skins,
From the firmness of our hips,
From the flowing hairs on our thick legs and arms,
From the graceful ridges of our noses,
We gather it with our hands that knows only love,
And we spread it gentle, gentle, gentle.
Twinges and Aches of a Shapeless Being
by Zara Sofea
The girl wishes she was a ghost. She doesn’t wish to die. Only to exist without the physical body. She would take long walks at night and bury her bare feet in the dirt, feeling every slight prick as if it were the first time. She’d scream unforgivingly. Live unforgivingly. Above, the moon would look down at her in a secret only the two of them shared. And there would be no skin to drink in its light.
The girl, unconsciously engraved in her mind, believes that beauty is piety. A minor condition in exchange for the gift of life and all of its wonders. Under the corset, she is forced to become unrecognisable. A blurry silhouette, ever-morphing in front of the mirror. But she longs for something more, and it seeps into her brain like a toxin and fills every crevice. It fills and fills with every passing day. At last, it erupts, and she chooses to let it all go.
The toxin is liberating, and the girl then reclaims her body. It is with a full heart she redefines what beauty means to her. She exists for herself; No longer a victim. No longer a mourner.
Written by: Zara Sofia & Natasha
