ENREDADA IN زبانوں

Using poetry, music, art, and politics from North America, South Asia, and South America to make a little bit more sense out of life.

[tangledintongues]

Looking up and around in Istanbul. 

[tangledintongues]

Tilework and wall details from Makli Qabristan, a government school in Hyderabad, and Badshahi Masjid in Lahore.

[khatoonarts]

Artist: Farhutulain Kiyani

Instagram

[tangledintongues]

Movement in the city. 

[tangledintongues]

First monsoon in Karachi, Pakistan. 

[jagraina]

Dancing to make room for the truth

Mixed media on paper 

19 x 25 inches

2016

[tangledintongues]

Walking With My Mother’s Shadow

Anila Quayyum Agha’s installation piece “Walking with My Mother’s Shadow” suspends time, space, and memory. The various shapes hanging from the ceiling are carved with delicately intricate patterns inspired by Islamic geometric art, while contained within hardened cubes and pyramids. Yet, the subsequent shadows projected on every corner of the room are what push the boundaries of these shapes and patterns to create an altogether new experience. Agha’s play on darkness and light allows the visitor to occupy both worlds of fantasy and reality, invisible and visible, simultaneously.  However, this work is not only about pushing boundaries. It concerns the intimate relationships we all have to life’s transformations. Through her art, Agha reflects on the recent loss of her mother and her son’s marriage. The title of the exhibit can, therefore, suggest how memory, darkness, and shadows not only haunt, but also guide us to new ways of experiencing the world.  “These materials appear fragile, but are often resilient, hardy, even stubborn just like sorrow when cut, pushed, pulled, scraped, or sewn together.” - Aicon Gallery, New York City, NY Sources: http://www.aicongallery.com/exhibitions/walking-with-my-mother-s-shadow/press-release | http://anilaagha.com/ | http://www.ricegallery.org/anila-agha/

[ryanpanos]

Movie Theaters in South India | Stefanie Zoche

[tangledintongues]

On backseat car rides (14/30)

On backseat car rides, the way home always seemed shorter. Eyelids heavy with sleep, we dreamt the moonlight propelled us. On nights like these, I drive home with my windows down. Cool breeze brushing my arm, craving goosebumps to stay awake.

[tangledintongues]

Name III (07/30)

Your name never told you That it is made of birds, Of gift and blessing. It is made for flight.

[tangledintongues]

Name II (06/30)

Your name makes them want. Asking too many questions, Talk to redeem yourself. It grows bitter on the tongue, Burdensome and flashy.

[tangledintongues]

Name I (05/30)

Your name was once heavy. American friends used it for a slingshot on the playground. It broke on landing, dripping from their mouth Syllables pouring out on the gravel. An introduction in excess. An introduction in ugly. 

[tangledintongues]

A wish that love came with Domino’s Pizza Tracker (04/30)

Love leaves me unsatisfied, empty, lacking But most importantly… hungry. 

I want my love like pizza. Like Domino’s Pizza. The one with the Delivery Tracker.

Because I want my love predictable. No gimmicks, no games. I want to know when it is nimble and sticky like dough, When it is ready for heat, For fire that can melt and grow. When it is fleeting and ready to leave, I want it delivered to my door in awkward exchanges and unsuspecting cardboard boxes. 

I want my love handmade and wholesome, Warm and familiar. I want to devour my love, Greedy and gluttonous. Sick with regret, yet full all the same.

[tangledintongues]

Only night (03/30)

Halloween. For years, it was only night I was allowed to wear mom’s red lipstick. In my red and purple lehnga, I was always a ‘princess.’

Until, one Eid I came to school in shalwar kameez. While passing treats to classmates, one dough-eyed boy said, “Wow, you look like a princess.”

Complimented and confused. I thought, “Halloween was months ago. I am no royalty.”

The next October 31st, I begged to be a mermaid. I still got to wear the lipstick, but amongst the ghosts and ghouls, A mermaid was safer.

These were the masks where we could hide. Slip into, like no one was watching. Quieter than churiyas dancing on my princess wrists

That costume was reserved for play-time, where we are expected to cut every word from our mother tongue and splash them with glitter: Hoping to satisfy this world’s hunger for technicolor.

So, to the lost lineages of brown girl royalty:

They made you princess, exotic. Made you into wing-tipped eyeliner. Jasmine fantasy. Thumka Named you caramel, not brown. Eyes hazel, not brown.

But when the glitter settles and the dhol beat fades: You are milk, honey, pomegranates. You are daar chini, zeera, betel nut. You are eyebrow, stranger to metal tweezer. You need not make yourself palatable.

You are of clay: mud and molded; An almond tree bearing its fruit; Not their pillaged jewels, not their Halloween.

[tangledintongues]

For the force of you (02/30)

You entered like a gust of July through wooden shutters: Warm and worrisome. Your arms gathered the backs of my neck and knees: Swept and spinning. With feet on the ground now, my toes curl, heels find root: Deep and digging.

[tangledintongues]

Clocks (01/30)

When you were told to shine bright like the sun: To beam, to soak in the rays, to spark with heat The night began to symbolize all that you feared. 

Faithful servants of the Gregorian calendar: We resented seasons that did not value punctuality as we did. We sprang forward and fell, Sure that the clocks would catch us.

–

On April 1st I was determined to participate in National Poetry Writing Month and promised myself to write 30 poems in 30 days. As of April 7th, I am officially 7 poems behind.  Anyways… this poem is about rebelling against Western concepts of time/Gregorian calendar in order to learn more about my roots. 

[tangledintongues]

Here’s to all the poems I wanted to write more than wanting to be written about.