She moves with the fluidity of

a recycled raindrop

tramped upon by scuffed brogues

on pavements dented with use.


Face veiled, hands knotted

tied and dried,

eyes sunken.



she burrows secrets in sans serif

concealed within a moleskine.


She’s never tried pomegranates,

sea men or saviours,

spent behind a niqab.


People will say her father

should not have beat her.

Her mother should have beat her more.


She says nothing

as she boards the bus


and evaporates.


9 responses to “Hidden

  1. This is a very intense poem – I am thinking a lot about the line of the mother beating her more – I actually think that there is a fair amount of repression by women so I’m not completely sure of that line, but I do understand what you are getting at. The disconnect too of not having the pleasures, the richness of a certain heritage, but the limitation. (I think there’s limitation even with pomegranates though–still a super interesting poem very well-expressed.) k.

  2. Love this, Shan. A short study of a person who appears for a moment in your life and then disappears as quickly, leaving behind a perception. You generate empathy for this woman in her solitary suffering. Lovely

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