Artwork by Maham Khan – www.linkedin.com/in/maham-khan-a6a840169
By Aqsa Ishaq
It is we sinful women
while those who sell the harvests of our bodies
become the just princes of the material world.
(Kishwar Naheed, Translated by Rukhsana Ahmed)
Standing in the vacuum somewhere far above
She could see the noise and feel the visibility
The screen hated her.
She received the hate and kept looking.
Under the covers of honor and shame and lust
She was made to love –
The cuss words, the abuse, the tears,
The blasphemy against a woman,
The teapot in the kitchen.
He slapped me and pushed me on the bed
Amidst the lights, the camera, the action
Life stopped responding to the lingering expression in her eyes.
Paintings, and leaves, and cries hanging on the wall
The eye could not see the tear.
My Jhumkas, piercing the flesh, are the colors to be followed
It was all love
She was loved.
In the curves of her body
Lived the gods of honor and desire
For her, not of her.
The screen flashes again
She could not move
She saw the vulture through the screen
The viewer of these lights, the camera, the action
She could not move.
I am a literature graduate. I believe in questioning the ways of life and disrupting the silence of injustice with my ordinary yet determined voice of rebellion.