When People Ask...When People Ask About HomeWhen People Ask...
When people ask about home, I am silent. I have no words to let them hear the way the first drops of monsoon
drum upon the parched heart of Lahore.
When people ask about home, I am bewildered. I have no idea how to make them smell the sweetness of methi in July,
the yellowbrightness of its smile.
When people ask about home, I am ashamed. I think about the woman in the Gucci
sunglasses who called Mukhtaraan Mai
“attention-hungry, I mean, poori dunya ko batana zaroori hai
‘I was raped’? Seriously, yaa
in Open 1w 4d ago
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