#Title

When we are

BIRTHED ANEW
PHOTO: ORCHID CHAKMA
A.M. FAHAD
If a mole is a sign or a mark of a past love from a lost life
I would like to be birthed anew as a void
With you as my sculptor
An entity covered in love
I would ask you to mould me like you would do with wax
Tear apart this veil, this husk I am made of
All the rotten portions of it
When I was a child, we did not keep bandages at home
And the wounds stayed fresh longer than they usually do
So cling on to me like medicine glued to thin paper
Cover my wounds, hold on to my crumbs
Feed them to the birds; they are my friends
My bones are hollow
In hopes of mending all the broken fragments of violence
Brought upon myself – by the self –
With bits of love I can cover myself with,
I wait for you in the rain with empty hands
Think of it like this
Love
Is a persuasion
Of continuing the dreadful ordeal of existence
Love like a fisherman’s hook
Or your favourite song playing in the radio, the smell of a crisp new book,
Sparkly feline eyes creeping up on you from behind the patio,
Broken voices from a tone-deaf bard and his guitar, or a breathless figure’s love letter
And now here I am
I stand in front of you
The universe inside of me, as far as the naked eye can see
Two eyes. Two hands.
But the sockets are empty
Two souls, some flesh
Make me yours in ways irreversible
Make meaning out of these crevices in my skin
Do not think of my ghost fifty thousand years away from the two of us,
A world where there exists none of you
And even less of me,
Tonight, under the city’s dark and silvery rain
When your eyes are met with mine
I exist