Identities in flight

The security frisker –
“Are you Baloch? Sindhi?” he tries to relate; I
Mutter; he misunderstands; we shake
Hands.

The neoliberal mendicant –
Juggling two cellphones (one, the mother
Of all), paan-spittle, beard spat,
Ruffled mercantile static, snake-skin
(licensia poeticus) shoes pointing to
Mecca.

The long lost –
“Are you Masri?” it begins, and
They talk till necessity does them
Part.

4 comments on “Identities in flight

  1. mrsorenson says:

    The poem hit me with a cold wave of once-shocking and still-real sensory image. Is it finished? It sounds like the beginning of something more? Richly revealing. Thanks.

    • huzaifazoom says:

      I started taking mental notes for this one while waiting at the departure lounge in Karachi. By the time I reached Muscat via Dubai, the first two parts had to be put in. The last few lines I put in to close, but you are right, it remains somewhat open. So glad to read your comment, thanks.

  2. Melissa Shaw-Smith says:

    You picked such an interesting jump off point for this poem, and such wonderful imagery! Great stuff. Thanks for sharing.

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