Gulshan-i-Iqbal Park by Hafsah Aneela Bashir Mua


Yesterday in Sardar mandi, next to the sabzi valas wooden handcart
You opened my passenger side door and took a seat
Decreased the front of your brown starched kameez over your knees
Like, maybe, your father used to
And demanded I drive you to Anarkali as if you knew me

I wonder now how many protests you stifled
At the sight of a lapel, peeled back
To reveal tightly assembled explosives strapped
To upper torso like an iron swaddle
Before my car became your vehicle of choice

We drove to three different locations
My croaked touch-paper pleas unable
to cool the flame of your eyes
Your face – a scream
When you couldn’t decide
Where to deliver your hatred

You slammed my car door as you left

Today the swings in Gulshan-Iqbal Park are cracked red
The chains, charred and redundant
The overturned choo choo train simmers
Like, maybe , your heart used to
While a footless shoe joins the pile of empties at the side gates

You found your way

3 thoughts on “Gulshan-i-Iqbal Park by Hafsah Aneela Bashir Mua

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