And Everything, Forgotten!
if i tell you a secret
promise me, stranger,
you will receive it with an open heart.
there’s a door somewhere in my village
the color of parched earth, of weathered
wood, of things that were once seamless.
it hangs loose on one hinge,
still ajar —
into a world unburdened by
the city’s clamor, its relentless hum,
the selves we are coerced into wearing.
past it, a thin river runs
unnamed and unbothered.
the palms preside like an old man
casting shades upon those
who wait without being asked.
as i cross this rust, one foot into the familiar,
the other into void —
the door sighs shut at my back
like a prisoner meeting open air.
the water does not greet me.
it continues, and that indifference
is the kindest thing, i’ve been
offered in ages.
here the light falls unhurried and
unambitious, it carries no destination.
this is the secret stranger, not the door /
not the palms / that i keep coming back
that no version of the city has ever
fit me the way this broken threshold does.
so now you know, there’s a door,
and on the other side of it,
i’m not performing /
i’m, at last, myself.
Hamna Kamran