for every winter that passes a cloud dies;a flower withers in the deep forest across the lake –

a dream dies and a dream is reborn

girls are born and despite the efforts of men to make more men girls are adamantly raising their heads from between the legs of – women who smile when they hold their baby girl in their arms for the first time; reminders of resurrection. lahore is not a city-

it’s a reminder

of winters girls lived

men killed

women survived

and trees grew

despite the grotesque

structures that outgrew the tallest trees;

i planted seeds in the kiyaari-

three generations waited

for the seeds to sprout

daughters smiled

nanos pride

my humble sigh and a slight twitch

there was a smile there once

I’m trying to remember how

you took it from my face

this winter I reclaimed it

six months

is half a year

no more and no less-

the moon

got stuck in my throat tonight

and it stayed there

we have only one moon

i have to return it

but its adamant on staying where it is

shining down my oesophagus and lighting my face

stuff facials are made of in sweaty, crowded basement salons

where we pay for beauty

and draw attention to the lines

we so detest

the mark of Time

of a winter after winter after winter