I imagine her waves, before I enter
like hands softly caressing the sand of the shore
They ease their way towards my feet
And we meet each other halfway
Ana Maria Sanchez-Castillo
MiC Senior Editor
MIC
Punjab. Literally the land of five rivers. . . or, well, it used to be. You see, even the name of our homeland brings pain these days. How can I tell you the pain of Punjab? Quite honestly, it is a pain that I can hardly even understand.
The other day, I wore a black button down shirt. It was quite simple, with no extra embroidery or anything, just an ordinary black button down. Well, maybe there’s one exception. My buttons were on the left side. Yep, that’s right folks. I wore a men's black button down shirt.
When the Motherland
Finds Home in
Your mouths,
My heart Beats
as fast
as You Speak.
I Hear
the Sun
সুবর্ণা; the color of gold. In Bengali, my mother tongue, pronounced: shoo-born-ah. The name given to me by my parents, recent immigrants to the Western Hemisphere, lovingly gazing down at their firstborn child in this new world.
My tears flow like yours
As does my blood when you cut me
Tearing the color off my skin
Slicing the culture off my clothes