WriterPublications - THE BRIDGE

Wandering Stranger (2nd Position- 9th International Writing Competition) by Syeda Farwa Batool - Pakistan

I thought I would call it home,

A place where names don’t fracture me.

But home,

Is a word that split me in half.

Gendered by sex,

Discriminated by gender,

Where do I belong to?

when the categories

don’t fit,

don’t hold,

don’t name me right?

A deep longing resounded within,

It echoed,

Louder than the language I was taught.

I step out from the familiar,

Out towards the unknown,

(familiar in the way pain becomes routine.)

I stand to take in the fresh, crisp, wet, smell of dawn,

As if something’s offering me forgiveness...

They say identities are formed from the day you are born,

But as I sat on the ground, palms down,

I touched the soil with my bare hands,

And felt a warmth embracing me

Visualizing what was before me, I wondered

What and who held control over the ground?