Hibah Shabkhez
Scrolls do not speak of us. The tsking brooms
Of time always sweep us off the table
Of history, herstory, theirstory;
The wild, wild, wild
Bone-ghosts that dust-danced in dining rooms
Chicken unmourned, human unmournable
Fish, egg-shell, tired duck in fading glory;
And child, child, child.
We led no armies, we bore no princes
We did not hold the pen;
We were only the shadow that rinses
Clothes, plates, floors, and then
Vanishes.
Hibah Shabkhez is a writer of the half-yo literary tradition, an erratic language-learning enthusiast, and a happily eccentric blogger from Lahore, Pakistan. Her work has previously appeared in Zin Daily, Litbreak, Broadkill, Rising Phoenix, Big City Lit, Constellate, Harpy Hybrid, and a number of other literary magazines. Studying life, languages and literature from a comparative perspective across linguistic and cultural boundaries holds a particular fascination for her. Linktree: https://linktr.ee/