The House that Wasn’t 

One balmy afternoon, 

I built a house with cloth and bamboo shoots. 

walls splashed with yellow and brown roses. 

Egyptian cotton, I still remember! 

Soft and warm I curled in them. 

Empty utensils bubbling with joy, 

on a fire stoked by my dreams. 

A cabbage patch wrapped around me, 

My doors open for all to see. 

But that was one balmy afternoon… 

’cause every evening the walls came down 

spreading themselves on a hard wooden bed. 

Ugliness sprawled on it at night. 

tepid breath seeping through the yarn, 

the bamboo shoots no more held up the walls 

roses wilted under the weight of the thorns. 

My head didn’t want to rest on the dream anymore 

Every night I wish I could forget that one night some more. 

-Insia Dariwala 

 

 

 

The Journey After:

 

To the father who made me a mother

To the Molester I call brother.

 

To the neighbor that tells me HUSH!

To the society that wants me to combust

 

To the Teacher, the preacher, the sinner, the saint.

The uncle, the cousin, the stranger in the lane

 

I wanna say

I wanna say

I wanna say…

 

I am more than my body parts

I am more than what was lost

 

I am more than the isolation, the betrayal, the shame… the innocence lost,

Oh! but not in vain

 

For I am the love, which still beats in my heart …

I am glee …

scarred and wounded…

but you have to see

 

 I am joy… I am hope…

I am the journey hereafter

I am the journey after.

This is me. This is me. This is me.

-INSIA DARIWALA