While procrastinating, I decided to Google myself (which is a valid thing to do, don't be rude). I found that an essay I wrote as part of a scholarship application two years ago had been posted by the scholarship organization. As it turns out, they had told us they would post our essays, but I … Continue reading Iqra: The Command to Read
*gasp* A poem? On WaxesPoetic? "But Neiha," I hear you say, "I thought you said you wouldn't be-" Yes. I know. But exceptions prove the rule, and I was very sweetly asked to share this poem somewhere on social media more than once today, and - most importantly - it's a poem about Laylat-ul-Qadr, my … Continue reading Ghazal for Laylat-Ul-Qadr
Foreword About once a month, a group I really adore called Subcontinental Drift Boston puts on an open mic. Last (October? September?) year, I started making a regular appearance, reading my poetry at their open mics. It's become, above all, a way to engage with the South Asian community in the Greater Boston Area. Every … Continue reading Against Contrivance
I hate calling myself a poet, in the way I always struggled with calling myself an artist (I still don't like calling myself an artist). To be a "poet" or an "artist" means you have received a degree of instruction, or self-taught prowess, of a calibre that it can be disseminated. I don't think I … Continue reading Poetrygrams, privacy and setbacks
as a child i listened to The Cranberries singing anthems i could not grasp for Salvation & for Zombies, as Odes to my Family & to Saving Grace; i am 21 & my heart aches as it connects the dots a five year old in her father's car could not. i cry for the Warchild, … Continue reading A post written in poem
some cooking tips: 1. when you cook chicken (breast, thigh or fillet) make three thin nicks with a serrated knife (okay, it's more for bread than poultry but it was the only knife within reach). stuff rosemary in each pocket & smell the divinity in your kitchen. 2. most things are better crushed. take garlic, mint, … Continue reading Divining
I've been reading a lot of Kierkegaard lately in the form of a little anthology comprising his journals and essays and seminal works; I love reading journals and letters written by my favorite thinkers because I'm that pompous ass and because it explores what is a distinct beauty in their very musing, a grace in the core of their self.
My heart is not so small that it cannot ache for the many; my conscience is not so limited as the number of words on my tongue; and my attentions do not only bend with the curve of my lover's spine. i am human and we have an uncanny knack for feeling with every star … Continue reading the universe is ever-expanding
a fun fact about bruises; the throb lasts about as long as the memory that accompanied the blow; and as far as battle-scars go, registering bluepurpleblack with vague surprise Feels like a posthumous victory Sounds like a retroactive yield & Looks like my own smile reflected back in a blade, diamond-sharp; a will that cuts. … Continue reading poetry dump, take one
I woke up to morning breeze, Like a lover's kiss against chapped lips Like the barest caress over erstwhile tired skin, Like a sweet Whisper Good Morning, And I vowed to keep my window open If only to wake up in love every day.