Art by Arisha (@sitaradoodles)
Mothers in our land name their children after things they’ve lost. things they can’t have unless they name their children after them. Hayaat. Mashaal. Qandeel.
Hayaat is for life itself. existence. to a mothers life. a life to a mothers life. Hayaat. a prayer to live longer. for a son. a hope to stay forever. for a son. a word that feels eternity. but our mothers somehow forget that life is always haunted by death. that every hope is bound to crumble. that every word is merely a languages way of showing off. that their sons even if named Hayaat wont live longer here.
Mashaal is for light. radiating from the dark corners. illuminating the darkest corners. of a mothers life. of a land that is so enwrapped in gloom. light that transcends the murk seated on thrones for long. but our mothers forget that light if its in abundance causes blindness to those who are so comfortable with darkness. that a Mashaal is destined to only fade on our nameless streets.
Qandeel is for lantern. a thing inclosing a light. defying the darkness. shunning away everything that comes in its way, that’s what our mothers want their daughters to be. Qandeel. but they somehow forget that it needs to be protected. always. like their daughters. from winds blowing against them. from merciless rains showering above them. from whatever comes to their way. that a Qandeel if remains unprotected chokes within its own walls.
our land has waged a war on our mothers. for it neither let live Hayaat nor Mashaal nor Qandeel. it keeps eating away their children like a bloodsucking monster. once a child of separation has grown into a sterile monster. that doesn’t let our mothers will to stay alive intact.
Bakhtawar says God doesn’t live in battlefields. that he doesn’t live here anymore.
|Aisha Ahmed||Aisha reads and writes tragedies that often go unnoticed|