mother
i am told i have your eyes
and yet
what you see as life, i see as a graveyard
you do not know what to do with a daughter like me
a daughter you deem difficult
because she does not know how to stay silent
and swallow her grief
like all the women before her
you have watched the women in your family
shrink themselves for decades
and i frighten you
because i occupy more space
than what is allowed for women like us
you plead with me
this is how the world is for women like us
accept it, otherwise the fire will burn you and swallow you whole
mother, haven’t you heard
i am the fire
and i will rain hell on anyone who tries to put out my flames
This poem was written by Mejgan Lashkari, a writer residing in Toronto with roots from Afghanistan. Her writing tackles issues many shy away from, such as womanhood, identity, belonging, migration, and beyond. You can find her work on her Instagram @mejgan.writes.
Photo by Rada Akbar.