by Sidrah

Stepping into the almost-outside,

the place for almost-theres and


I recall the bluest of dreams,

trying to inhale some colour back

onto my cheeks and leave the

indoor pallor behind. I throw

crushed flowers and lacerated petals

to the wind, watching them sweep away

into delicate counterpoints –

so much more subtle than stones

trying to defy gravity.

There is a grace and poise to

this limbo where I stand: I know

I was supposed to fall,

like hopeful pebbles clattering

to reality. Yet I remain suspended in

levitation of the most human sort –

a balcony to catch my fall.



Sidrah is a 28 year-old Pakistani poet in the UK. She is a teacher, reader, writer and collector of hobbies; she dabbles in painting, photography and martial arts. She has been writing since she was 13, but has only recently begun to showcase her work. She tends to write shorter pieces focused on strong imagery: an encapsulation of one moment, one feeling.

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