Almond as a Eulogy by Kariha Javaid

I peep through the keyhole
at snow capped mountains
Wrapped as a gift
In concertina wires.
If I blink too fast,
The waves engulf a shikara.
Condiments of kehwa
along the margins of Dal.

I peep through the keyhole
at Jahangir on his deathbed
writing a eulogy for my room.
A dying monarch
mourns
A dead kingdom.

I peep through the keyhole
at my grandma’s nikkah
She agrees to love beyond margins thrice.
Qubool hai
her father dies,the visa is declined.
Qubool hai,
her brother dies, the visa declined
Qubool hai,
she gets the visa, there’s no family left.

I close my eyes shut.
my room is not a vision,
it is not history,
it is not a meadow that shrinks,
it is not a mountain that melts.
I refuse to turn it into memory.

My eyes open,
the keyhole has turned in an almond,
that didn’t brew the kehwa,
that Jahangir couldn’t taste,
that escaped centuries
wrapped in my grandma’s pashmina.

I break it open,
the almond tastes like blood.