Guluk naksa

By Leila Lois | 19 Mar 20
Margaret Killjoy/Creative Commons

‘I want no flowers,
no epoch of union,
no dawn of disunion.’
Kajal Ahmad


You grew up surrounded

by absent men,

shadowy black & white,

in gold frames,

their smiles ghostly in the foreground.


On your skin, you traced this rupture

following the faint line,

running down the Meridian of your body—

a biological scar of disunion

of place and time.


It made you wonder,

which part of you belonged

to the oceans you’d travelled over,

which to the immovable mountains

your ancestors were from,

where tears flowed

heavily through legacies of weeping,

a briny Euphrates,


and although those memories are not your own,

still you imagine

the moon barely visible and

tulips sprouting after nowruz frost

on the land they called home.



Guluk naksa ~ a flower is soft.