I know my most precious friends by the way their laughs curl upwards from the soil of their bellies.
This poem was written in 2014, in the aftermath of the Peshawar school attack that killed 134 children.
If you're a young Muslim in India, what does your safe space look like?
Sometimes I wonder, would it be a lot easier if I just got married? I could still dabble into this, and my wife wouldn’t hear a hiss.
Then came rain, giving voice to the sombre, silent clouds.
A short piece on sitting on my grandfather's shoulders, watching the trains go by.
Why are women made to feel like we need to mask our 'imperfections'?