ON FORGETTING HIS INVISIBLE PRINTS ON MY BODY
A lockdown helped a lover in forgetting the touch of her beloved. Slowly and steadily. An ode to a forgotten lover from a woman who no longer feels capable of being a lover in the current socio-political context of the country. It is the story of forgetting touch. I am confused at the ease of forgetting. It is incredibly easy to forget the curves of the jawlines that you once kissed, or the voice whose whispers made you sleep or even the face of those who meant the world. I mourn and celebrate the fact that I am starting to forget. My memories are fading. Each morning I remind myself that I need to forget. I am scared that a day will come when I will have no reason to mourn the lost love, the abandonment, or the deception. I dread that day.
Sabika is a dreamer, activist, and founder of Sar-e-Rahguzar. She reads out poems to unassuming audiences on the streets. She tells stories, is an SEL educator and translator. Her work revolves around issues of gender and minority rights.