Waziha Aziz

What matters when there's a Motherland to defend? 

Reverse brain drain, a highly idealised concept, has been making waves on social media recently.

I know of my feeble frame of its graying at the edges.

Throughout the days of fear, uncertainty and lack of security during the revolution, the students of Chattogram remained united and steadfast while after the revolution, they took it upon themselves to help out the community. The change, brought forward by the students, can now be felt throughout the city.

My father speaks in a dismantled language that goes up in  smoke. 

There are no lamplights in this end of the neighbourhood. Only tall trees standing upright on either side of the road, their leaves drooping down in lament for a long-forgotten motion.

From every direction strong torrents meet Collide, counter, and begrudgingly recede.

Welcome, weary traveler! To my humble abode. Come, come. I'll show you

Perhaps father was never taught to love.

I stare bleary eyed as my lock screen tells me I have a new message.

The culture of going out for iftar is ever increasing in Chattogram.

I used to wear my minutes as accessories and now the minutes wear me.

The gravity of writing has always come from the writer. A piece of literature cannot be judged without the whys and hows, and these questions are impossible to answer without sentience.

“Where the hell is Manzur?” Taher crouched near a slight bend, peeking over some dying shrubbery. “I said high noon.”

A pity, it began as a reflective study. A bird’s eye view of Kafka’s conundrum  Is a fallen leaf lost, or free? I slid a window wide open Found a dead moth crumpled on the sill.

Cool winter winds Carry stories untold

Men wearing wreaths uphold their sacred emblem - They extend an olive branch. Hold round-table talks on their next daring conquest. Fill banks with our blood. Build forts of crisp notes. Offer helpless smiles to victims of wars that they sell. They empty the bowels of our earth for oil, tie a string from end to end

I hope it finds you in good health.

The moon smiles down at us, A soft gleam on her bleached brow.

Blind to the beauty of this world