BLOOM.
I know you see me,
so you better make room
I'm comin, I'm coming—
I'm about to breakthrough.
Gonna hit the ground runnin'
I've gotta break the news.
Been a long time hustling,
and I'm long overdue.
God, it feels stunning
to grow from the gloom,
might be late to the garden,
but I'm about to BLOOM.
This story's just getting started,
so let the celebration begin!
You can catch me up on Cloud 9,
cos I finally let myself win.
This is such a blessing,
but it feels like a sin.
God, it feels stunning,
but I'm about to BLOOM.

BLOOM.
Kash Baloch, 2022.

-

And so I'm here, I'm happy.
I lost it all to win, though
you may try to break me,
you'll never clip my wings

No, you can't kill my soul,
or ever stop my spirit.
My heart—it goes on beating,
in spite of everything.

Some say that I'm brilliant,
but you might call me chaos,
I know I am resilient,
and I'm about to take-off.

I'll scale the tallest mountains,
and reach the highest peaks,
drink from every single fountain,
if it takes a minute or a week.

CLIMB.
Kash Baloch, 2022.

-

You sweetly poured
hot-coal down my throat
T H E N berated me for
N O T speaking
up / / enough.

Kash Baloch, 2015.— % &

-

I watch, awestruck, as
you took my tears then
weaved them into cloth. 
Embroidered with golden
silks you pulled from the
fabric of your heart.

Shalimar is in you!
My mother IS a Taj Mahal. 
Her every breath's a nectar;
it is cardamom's caress.

Mamta.
Kash Baloch, 2018.

-

You CAN take my tears, my clothes,
my home and all that I own—
but you can n e v e r steal my soul.

You CAN read my books, colour all my pages,
sleep on my couch, sue me for my wages—
but you can ne-ver have my name.
Not my identity or energy; they cannot
be claimed.

NOT the fibre of my being.
NOR—the moral of my code.
Take the bed that keeps me warm,
remove all comforts from my home—
but you can't erase my smile.

My spirit's a survivor, it'll bend, but it will NOT be broken. And in spite of it all, my door remains wide-open.
You can't tolerate my brazen vulnerability,
or my bleeding heart, because I represent the things
you were too frightened to be become.

Let em beat me up, and leave me bruised,
until I'm cold and I am shamed,
lying naked on the floor.
Although I'm all out of faith, I refuse to be displaced,
or lose my face OR be this Natalie Imbruglia-torn.

TORN.
Kash Baloch, 2022.

-

Spontaneous combust,
coughed up, in a cloud of dust,
erased the air, to tread on trust,
swept under rugs to stop the stuck,
unwind the clock 'cos time is up.
Reverse the curse, release the clutch,
steeped in sweat, sweet innocents,
disarm the dreadful dissonance.
Rewind the tape, to relive the rust
that ate away, and eroded us;
like acid rain, corrosive cut.
I fade away, to further my fear of
failed & filial obligatory fuss.
I uncross my heart & hope to live,
receive the love that I, too, give.
Put myself first to make it last—
add armour to my house of glass.

GLASS.
Kash Baloch, 2021

-

It used to be endearing: her ability to play devil's advocate and remain objective. Not many girls her age, let alone women, could see both sides of every story. She walked a mile in every shoe until she was tired. Danced through gardens with reckless abandon. She was simultaneously as naked as the sun and as mysterious as the moon. We warned her but to no avail, she wouldn't listen. She's both the forest and the fire—she will either destroy herself or raise an empire taller than the mountains.

-

It used to be endearing: her ability to play devil's advocate and remain objective. Not many girls her age, let alone women, could see both sides of every story. She walked a mile in every shoe until she was tired. Danced through gardens with reckless abandon. She was simultaneously as naked as the sun and as mysterious as the moon. We warned her but to no avail, she wouldn't listen. She's both the forest and the fire—she will either destroy herself or raise an empire taller than the mountains.

-

Your lips whisper secrets only mine can hear. Your touch speaks to me in sign language, but only on my skin. We are more than lovers, we are poets–writing ourselves along one other's thighs. You taste like culture, and sophistication; fine wine, and photographs. I wish you would remain here forever, entangled between these satin sheets with me. If only I could find some place precious enough to keep you.

-

Your lips whisper secrets only mine can hear. Your touch speaks to me in sign language, but only on my skin. We are more than lovers, we are poets–writing ourselves along one other's thighs. You taste like culture, and sophistication; fine wine, and photographs. I wish you would remain here forever, entangled between these satin sheets with me. If only I could find some place precious enough to keep you.

-