and then there were three

The Candle

words | zainab bhatti illustrations | rida jan

In my more formative years my family welcomed a new child like how the Wise Men anticipated the arrival of Maryam’s son: with soft hearts and open arms.

I had prayed to my Creator for another I could call my sister but received more.

Unbeknownst to me, the infant who survived the twists and perils of the River Birth and then the River Time would become

A best friend A daughter A candle

Plagiarism

My child who I gave life to, who I nourished with the fruits of Heaven

and dressed in cradling clouds of linen. Who I caressed in my arms and cleansed before sweet slumber. Who, before a guess, was taking her first steps

out of the golden crib and River of Jordan, grazing upon milk and honey, dreaming under skies stained with indigo, unaware of the sundial’s shadow growing plenty.

But the wolves stalked my dearest. Unseen, swift, and shameful, an act of cold blood rendered me bereft of my beloved.

Untitled

I welcomed myself not with sadness not with my younger self’s pain I embraced my nose my face as one would a friend they had not seen in quite some time

It was me It was loving myself with the amount of love I generously gave others but starved myself of like a prisoner on meal rations because you cannot escape prison when you are the warden when your own mind built the cell

When I welcomed self-worth I did not say goodbye to unworthy

I walked away

with my new friend and my new self