The Unknown In Every Direction

poetry by Ashley Somwaru and Kamila Mushkina, non-fiction by Aishwarya Shah, and art by Shama Nair

Poetry

 

My father dreams of Baldat and Chacha and a gorge. Elephants engraved into brass bells. Sansaar hai ek nadiya. Monkey tail torches. Snakes as arrowheads. Metaled teeth from Port Mourant. Thirsty mouths leaking into soil. Becoming grass. Becoming border. Dukh sukh do kinaare hain. Tears as earthquakes. Saturn in chains. Bhajan books stained with chana aloo. Trincity in the camera’s view. Crashing inside a conch shell. Na jaane kahan jaae… Ringing in the ears. Wood stacked to burn. Remains swept into the river. A hand as a wave pushing against shore... hum behate dhaare hain. A body in a black skirt is saying she’s next. 

It’s 4 AM and I Can’t Sleep Because My Brother and His Friends are Stomping

Night’s Dream Night’s Dream Night’s

broken skitter scatter

nibbling eyes to sleep 

leaf and woman lost in wind

[slinking into the yard where daal bellied

 drunk skunts are busted 

up with limacol and bushrum] 

are veins swept into mortar 

and pestled with bhandania 

echoes of departing footsteps

rippling realms garnished 

[harmonium crow squawks  

parakeet tweets are lassoed into finger brushed keys]

I Realize

before song

there was hurt  words

unsyllabled hollow land

unstringed by tide

my family never touched 

bangle chime what never

made it  to shore

my father writes

naja wo mathuranago khul jawo 

taste how broken we are

 

***

вы когда-нибудь видели

баранью голову в тазике?

острая морда и рога закрученные

глаза не помню я испугалась

может закрытые

а может их не было

нағыз қазақ емессің бе?

вот лошадь щиплет траву —

пасется соғым

это шутка, но в каждой шутке как говорится

мясо на деревянной доске —

это тоже плоть


летняя ночь

темнота сгущается не ранее десяти

смех и песни влетают в распахнутое окно

вот бы меня смогли сейчас отпустить

наяву окутаться сном

мне страшно и любопытно так, что страшно

ночь бессовестно скалится, томно льстит

я не могу надышаться и наливаю в чашу

больше, чем смогу унести

если бы я смогла, невесома и хороша

раскинуться в небе, как на безлюдном пляже

но я удираю, как вор, не слишком шурша

ключом в замочной скважине

Essay

 

Day 1

The rows of dominoes that string the world together are tumbling onto one another. Airports are snapping shut, distance is reiterated and a seismic shift is underway. Meaning has become elastic as the unknown stretches in every direction. 

I start to taste the meaning of words as they are uttered out loud. I wonder if this is a form of dissociation wrought by the pandemic. Have I always been able to feel the textures of phrases? Is this how my body responds to fear? 

(I think of asking you if you can taste words too.)

Day 6

When people say to me, I love you, I say, what does that even mean? 

I remember seeing a post-it slapped onto the wall of my Creative Writing teacher’s home that said, meaning is never monogamous. This is true of love, which the Oxford Dictionary defines as ‘an intense feeling of deep affection,’ but also as ‘a formula for ending an affectionate letter’ and ‘a score of zero; nil.’ 

It is evident to me that love is not a monolith; it is some sort of an enchanted mirror that reflects back something different to every observer. Yet, in recurring fits of absurdity, we abide by the convention of saying ‘I love you’, as though we are all staring at the same hallowed imagery of a universal lovescape.

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