Obituary for the Mundane

I am searching for a way to die that does not make use of fire or water
That does not make headline of my country ablaze or my children
in sinking boats
My people’s blood is famous for its quiet
How it can exist in our veins and in
our streets
And elicit no response either way
I am 22 now and always crying
On my walk home, I watch an animal on the road
fur flattened by traffic and it moves me to tears
This is not what I wanted when I prayed
to become softer
What I want to say is:
this world hurts me to extents unbearable
And the balm of love
Of my head in a man’s lap
Is a torn photograph is a
backwards glance
I am reaching for something that does not exist
This world hurts me
Lights my city on fire
Makes nostalgia of where the minarets once stood
I write down the better times so I do not forget
I take pictures of every unbroken thing
Before a father built gas masks out of plastic cups
Before our air became rationed by Sarin
Before prayers became a bargain with God
I map the concept of a nation without teeth
Of an ocean too kind to swallow bodies
I am reaching for something that does not exist.

By Amna Farooqi

Biography:

Amna Farooqi is a 23-year-old Pakistani writer in Canada. She is a recent Dean’s Honour List graduate of Justice, Political Philosophy and Law. Her work has been featured in Amnesty International, Collective Unrest, Tinderbox Poetry Journal, and the McMaster Undergraduate Journal of Law and Politics. Amna can be reached at: amna.n.farooqi@gmail.com.