yesterday i was the moon Read online

  Copyright © 2017, 2018 by Noor Unnahar

  All rights reserved.

  Published in the United States by Clarkson Potter/Publishers, an imprint of the Crown Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York. Originally published by CreateSpace, Scotts Valley, California, in 2017.

  crownpublishing.com

  clarksonpotter.com

  CLARKSON POTTER is a trademark and POTTER with colophon is a registered trademark of Penguin Random House LLC.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.

  ISBN 9780525576013

  Ebook ISBN 9780525576020

  Cover design by Danielle Deschenes

  Illustrations by Noor Unnahar

  v5.2

  prh

  for

  Amma Jaan and Areeba

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Contents

  Epigraph

  yesterday—i was the moon

  i am building

  {shams un-nisa}

  i am the rage

  i want stars, strength, and balance in my soul

  to the person who

  {the golden trio}

  learn to lose

  i envy the sun

  in this human skin

  people leave

  wishlist

  you are

  {namaz}

  {you are a miracle}

  it only takes

  when you fall

  {bilingual}

  you’ll have to learn

  {haunted houses without ghosts}

  {nomads}

  like the anger of fire

  {too afraid}

  grow

  {my favorite metropolis}

  how easy it is

  isn’t it

  you look like a museum to me

  {when women become the skies}

  my dreams now look like spears

  {flags}

  {when an artist falls in love}

  {difficulty}

  history

  {the sky & i}

  {survival}

  you’re the moon

  {forgiveness}

  isn’t it absolutely

  {hijab}

  it’s okay

  {change}

  my bones carry

  bravery was the lullaby

  {a work in progress}

  {teaching survival to my heart}

  art doesn’t ask

  the most beautiful thing in this world isn’t made

  the price of leaving

  {accent}

  {creating the balance}

  {a thank you note to the universe}

  home murmurs

  when everything comes crashing down

  wear your past with grace

  {it was art}

  falling in love with cities is risky

  {azeez aurton — dear women}

  some mornings

  do not worry

  {nikah}

  {the artists and their art}

  broken homes produce

  distance becomes

  someday

  {heartbreak}

  {before being nice}

  sadness

  {welcoming defeat}

  {women of my family}

  when ache arrives

  how dare you call

  you had a face

  i fled

  {absence}

  strong

  i am fighting

  no fire

  {the color of whispers}

  {future}

  be kind

  metal clashing with fire

  you said you would stay forever

  darling

  {family name}

  with this thunder in your heart

  i go to a war against words

  {a promise}

  the kind people

  {wanderlust}

  confidence is

  {a writer’s remedy}

  who would have thought

  i am learning

  accept change

  {freedom}

  {the struggling artist}

  a bolt of lightning

  {broken family}

  what if we started naming heartbreaks after

  my heart has become a silent neighborhood

  with every sunset

  every single dream you’ve pushed into

  survival is not beautiful

  i roam around in nameless alleys

  i can fix a lot of things

  i am growing flowers

  {noor}

  {author’s note}

  khatam shud

  “How long,” they say, “how long, O cruel nation,

  Will you stand, to move the world, on a child’s heart,—

  Stifle down with a mailed heel its palpitation,

  And tread onward to your throne amid the mart?

  Our blood splashes upward, O our tyrants,

  And your purple shows your path;

  But the child’s sob curseth deeper in the silence

  Than the strong man in his wrath!”

  {Elizabeth Barrett Browning, “The Cry of the Children”}

  yesterday—i was the moon

  today—just an eclipse

  something in me travels; some days it’s to

  the dark

  some days it’s to

  the light

  i am building

  a house

  where the floor is

  made up of strength

  where the walls are

  crafted of ambition

  where the roof is

  a masterpiece of forgiveness

  i am building

  myself

  my mother’s name

  translates into

  the sun of the women

  she named me

  noor unnahar

  light of the day

  i shine when i want to

  i burn when i have to

  the sun named me light; i know

  how to dwell in the sky

  with eclipses and stars

  {shams un-nisa}

  i am the rage

  left unspoken

  unheard

  unfortunately

  by the women before me

  so i write a lot and speak

  a little firmly

  giving life to the words that never

  made it out of their mouths

  i want stars, strength, and balance in my soul

  it’s been a while since they were last

  together in me

  to the person who

  will want to fall in love with me

  i have been a sky all my life

  full of life and light and anger

  if you’re not coming with

  thunderstorms; do not come

  at all

  nothing teaches better

  than this trio

  the fears, the tears, the years

  {the golden trio}

  learn to lose

  and

  it will teach you how

  winning works

  i envy the sun

  that shines at your side

  of the world; everything

  looks brighter wh
en

  two of you rise

  in this human skin

  i am half war

  half peace

  people leave

  because

  unlike matter

  that has firm, solid, strong

  molecules

  people are made up of

  air, fire, earth and water

  that change shapes

  that keep moving

  that cannot stop

  so let them go

  and let them be

  the things they want

  the shapes they like

  because

  in the end

  you too will grow

  into something

  entirely new

  so let them go

  wishlist:

  tremendous courage

  the power of forgiveness

  strength in abundance

  an unlimited supply of kindness

  you are

  the peace after wars

  the calm after storms

  and everything

  insanely beautiful

  that shapes after

  a tragedy

  5:30 am

  i wake up

  dusting away my sins

  even the sky is asleep

  and calmness greets me; fajr

  1:50 pm

  i finish my chores

  find peace on a mat

  angry heat is roaming the streets

  contentment enters my house; zuhr

  5:40 pm

  i will have my tea soon

  but success awaits

  in 4 rakats

  the sun is now tamed; asr

  7:00 pm

  the light is going

  and birds have gone

  to their warm little nests

  i am praying for home; maghrib

  8:30 pm

  the stars are bright

  and they twinkle outside

  the window of my room

  I am standing in ruku; isha

  this is how

  5 times a day

  i am

  authentically, avidly, absolutely

  alive

  {namaz}

  4:12 pm, five years ago, you were younger and

  you were waiting for a miracle to happen; to

  change everything. but this world isn’t as

  generous as it appears and there’s always a lack

  of miracles for those who wait for them. but

  yes, it does extend a hand to everyone who is

  willing to step forward and stare daringly in the

  eyes of life to give them their share of

  miracles.

  {you are a miracle}

  it only takes

  a second or two

  to look into their eyes

  and decide

  whether you’re home

  or at just another

  perfectly decorated house

  when you fall

  do it gloriously

  collapse like a glass building

  sink like a gigantic ship

  and when you’re done

  sinking and collapsing and

  sinking and collapsing

  build yourself

  with your wreckage

  i walk on two bridges everyday

  one is easy; like my mother tongue

  the other is scary; like a foreign language

  it creaks

  and my soul is split

  between these two bridges

  i cannot stop sounding

  like the language i grew up with

  and i cannot stop speaking

  this foreign language

  for it helps me

  survive

  {bilingual}

  you’ll have to learn

  the art of

  losing, choosing, and refusing

  to win what we call

  the game of life

  some houses are haunted. but they aren’t

  always inhabited by ghosts. sometimes some

  memories dwell there so starkly, their nameless

  faceless sorrow starts taking over and the walls

  keeping that house together start to collapse. i

  have walked into such houses only to witness a

  melancholic past, a withering present and a

  silent future. those houses carry the dead

  dreams and maybe broken hearts too

  because god knows where else one

  could ever find this much sadness

  that would turn one firm building

  into an abandoned mess.

  {haunted houses without ghosts}

  we belong

  nowhere and everywhere

  to the glimmering streets

  of glorious cities

  to the dark and dusty alleys

  of places with names

  that are hard to pronounce

  and i wonder

  if it is like that

  because it’s been too long

  since i last went home

  {nomads}

  like the anger of fire

  shapes metal

  like the sorrow of a writer

  creates poetry

  everything that is beautiful

  doesn’t always start

  beautifully

  i am too afraid

  of people who have souls like hometowns

  warm, forgiving and too kind

  that even if you leave; even when you leave

  will always welcome you home

  remember you with your family name

  i am too afraid

  of something too homely

  when every breath coming out of my body

  is shaped like leaving

  {too afraid}

  grow

  like a wildflower

  the one people do not notice

  for they don’t smell like exquisiteness

  and when you know you have

  grown into something that is

  remarkably exquisite

  help those

  who are like the wildflowers

  that do not smell like

  exquisiteness

  you remind me of my favorite metropolis

  sparkling, loud yet hauntingly sad when

  the light goes out

  your confidence; a popular skyscraper

  your sadness; an old orphanage

  your anger; a call of riot

  your tears; an uninvited storm

  i cannot thank you enough

  for reminding me that cities too breathe

  and humans too carry a heart of concrete

  {my favorite metropolis}

  how easy it is

  for you to talk about destroying

  buildings

  plants

  people

  but i hope you remember

  all of them can be rebuilt

  from the tiniest pieces of their

  remains

  isn’t it

  breathtakingly beautiful

  how you’ve learned

  to grow flowers

  from the memories

  that died

  a long time ago

  you look like a museum to me

  standing firm in a chaotic city

  calm in spite of all the urban noise

  and beautifully aware of all the art

  that resides in you

  some of our men have become too large for our houses

  that anyone who is not a man looks like

  the shape of a foot to them

  you’re not even equal to my shoe; it sounds


  funnier than it actually is

  they hope we will shrink—paint ourselves in

  delicate frames to hang on the walls

  but

  we know how to build homes out of their

  mortgaged dreams

  and if we leave

  their buildings will collapse

  that is when they will know

  we are the size of the skies and

  their feet will look smaller than they actually are

  {when women become the skies}

  my dreams now look like spears

  that i have to hold upside down

  clench too tightly and i will bleed

  hold too lightly and they will fall

  there are days when i am a flag of victory

  standing firm on a familiar ground; my fabric

  without a single crease

  winds bringing me pride and attention

  from foreign eyes

  but such days do not stay and then come

  the days of being a flag of surrender

  deprived of glory; i stand as a symbol

  of what time is capable of doing

  that with a new wind

  comes a new victor

  comes a new victim

  {flags}

  you are the loudest

  and brightest

  color of my life

  my brushes refuse

  to work when

  your shade isn’t present

  {when an artist falls in love}

  sometimes my words

  become a pile of broken glass

  they do not come out

  without hurting; dripping blood

  and i forget how to speak

  {difficulty}

  history

  i want it to reflect in my eyes

  echo in my words

  grown on my skin

  for my mirror needs to know