Two poems
Sahra Mohamed
The intimidation of a blank page
there’s nothing more intimidating than a blank page,
waiting to be nurtured with a love you do not possess,
the endless possibilities at your fingertips,
fearing you will see none through,
how do you forgive yourself for all the things you did not become?
how do you come to terms with what you are?
there’s nothing more intimidating than a blinking cursor,
daring fingers to dance on keys,
rendering melodies,
ringing like the sun shining off a body of water,
I imagine this is how it feels when two lovers embrace,
rekindling on each fresh page,
the way a canvas surrenders to colours,
or a sheet to words,
I tenderly caress the touchpad as if it were a cheek,
hold it as one does a face between both palms,
begging for one more sentence,
there’s nothing more intimidating than a red line under a name,
I think about what it means to be unrecognised,
to be considered foreign,
I tell myself the page is always a welcoming home,
it has never forsaken me,
still, I hasten to be added to every dictionary,
afraid of being erased,
there’s nothing more intimidating than autocorrect,
with its glaring honesty and nerve,
the way learned words and frequently used emojis of a keyboard know us better than we do,
perhaps that is what Hosseini meant when he said, ‘time is the most unforgiving of fires’,
perhaps that is why I long to mark each memory as ‘unseen’,
to revel in their beauty anew,
pocket them for days like these,
where I worry I’ll be the only one who remembers,
to mourn everything while others have forgotten,
but what I know to be true,
is there’s nothing more intimidating than an unnamed file,
pleading to be claimed,
to have its fate sealed,
how does one try to save anything,
when the pens have been lifted and the pages have dried,
when you barely know yourself,
and the names you so assuredly ascribe to?
on ‘growing up’
one day you realise that growing up,
is not what you thought it was,
not the eagerly anticipated benchmarks of ‘adulthood’,
like graduating,
landing your first office job,
or getting a mortgage,
rather,
it’s in the moments you miss if you blink,
it’s your childhood house on the market,
your grandparents’ passing away,
your mother’s head flooded in grey,
it’s in you becoming an aunt or an uncle,
your younger brother exceeding you in not only height — but wisdom,
it’s being caught in the middle of two generations,
growing up is slowly losing your mother tongue,
desperately clinging onto your culture,
making new family traditions,
it’s finding your own mosque,
building your tribe,
friends becoming family,
your next of kin changing,
growing up is developing opinions of your own,
not looking to elders for answers or approval,
while offering unsolicited advice to youngsters,
it’s the medical mysteries you can’t get to the bottom of,
when you were the epitome of health just yesterday,
it’s the irony, the hypocrisy,
and all of that in-between,
growing up is being unable to show up on doorstops unannounced,
or knocking for your friends like you once did,
it’s plans going in the diary months in advance,
the death of surprises and spontaneity,
the birth of calendars and never-ending to-do lists,
growing up is circling properties on Rightmove,
when you once circled toys on the Argos catalogue,
it’s still being over budget,
knowing that not much has changed all these years later,
you’re still just a kid with dreams in a world that will not grant them to you,
growing up is realising that you will never be 16, 18, 21 or 25 again,
that after 30, life flashes by,
that the next milestone years you’ll celebrate will come in decades,
that you don’t know how many of these you have left,
that you can probably count the rest on one hand,
yet, you remember that the ‘best’ years of your life do not exist,
that you are just getting started,
that it only gets better,
it’s in the desperate attempts of your present self,
to make your younger self proud,
to not disservice your future self,
it’s in holding space for all these different versions and realities,
growing up is a series of repeated heartbreaks, even when you are happy,
it’s experiencing pain and joy in a single moment,
it’s two truths existing at the same time,
it’s in the realisation that you are both more and less special than you think,
growing up is realising that the syllabus failed to prepare you for real life,
that life is an endless cycle of trials and tribulations,
of learning and unlearning,
that experience is your greatest teacher,
it’s having the courage to admit,
‘I don’t know’,
‘I change my mind’
and ‘I’m sorry’,
it’s extending grace,
to yourself — just as much as you do to others,
it’s in discovering that we’re all still figuring it out,
and surrendering to that very fact,
it’s finding peace in the unknown,
it’s developing faith, and having it tested time and time again,
and I will try to remember that there was a time before,
before my life were a ticking time bomb before my eyes,
before my loved ones were a picture in a frame,
before my siblings and I convened in a group chat instead of over a meal,
before my father was an occasional phone call, and my mother a visit,
I will try to remember a time when I referred to the home I grew up in as mine, and not my ‘parents’ house’,
before I was acquainted with burdens and expectations,
before the repressed memories were the burning resentment I have yet to work through,
mostly,
growing up is uncovering what it truly means along the way,
its demands and possibilities,
its sacrifices and occasional triumphs,
it’s in wishing you hadn’t been in a rush to do so,
it’s appreciating the rare moments of stillness amid the chaos,
it’s realising that the grass is not always greener on the other side,
or even where you water it,
it’s in finally understanding the bliss in ignorance,
it’s questioning whether it would have easier to simply succumb to your naivety,
to have swallowed society’s opinion on the matter,
it’s wondering whether it’s too late to do so,
and,
in the process of growing up,
you ask yourself — how does anyone avoid falling down?
there’s nothing more intimidating than a blank page,
waiting to be nurtured with a love you do not possess,
the endless possibilities at your fingertips,
fearing you will see none through,
how do you forgive yourself for all the things you did not become?
how do you come to terms with what you are?
there’s nothing more intimidating than a blinking cursor,
daring fingers to dance on keys,
rendering melodies,
ringing like the sun shining off a body of water,
I imagine this is how it feels when two lovers embrace,
rekindling on each fresh page,
the way a canvas surrenders to colours,
or a sheet to words,
I tenderly caress the touchpad as if it were a cheek,
hold it as one does a face between both palms,
begging for one more sentence,
there’s nothing more intimidating than a red line under a name,
I think about what it means to be unrecognised,
to be considered foreign,
I tell myself the page is always a welcoming home,
it has never forsaken me,
still, I hasten to be added to every dictionary,
afraid of being erased,
there’s nothing more intimidating than autocorrect,
with its glaring honesty and nerve,
the way learned words and frequently used emojis of a keyboard know us better than we do,
perhaps that is what Hosseini meant when he said, ‘time is the most unforgiving of fires’,
perhaps that is why I long to mark each memory as ‘unseen’,
to revel in their beauty anew,
pocket them for days like these,
where I worry I’ll be the only one who remembers,
to mourn everything while others have forgotten,
but what I know to be true,
is there’s nothing more intimidating than an unnamed file,
pleading to be claimed,
to have its fate sealed,
how does one try to save anything,
when the pens have been lifted and the pages have dried,
when you barely know yourself,
and the names you so assuredly ascribe to?
on ‘growing up’
one day you realise that growing up,
is not what you thought it was,
not the eagerly anticipated benchmarks of ‘adulthood’,
like graduating,
landing your first office job,
or getting a mortgage,
rather,
it’s in the moments you miss if you blink,
it’s your childhood house on the market,
your grandparents’ passing away,
your mother’s head flooded in grey,
it’s in you becoming an aunt or an uncle,
your younger brother exceeding you in not only height — but wisdom,
it’s being caught in the middle of two generations,
growing up is slowly losing your mother tongue,
desperately clinging onto your culture,
making new family traditions,
it’s finding your own mosque,
building your tribe,
friends becoming family,
your next of kin changing,
growing up is developing opinions of your own,
not looking to elders for answers or approval,
while offering unsolicited advice to youngsters,
it’s the medical mysteries you can’t get to the bottom of,
when you were the epitome of health just yesterday,
it’s the irony, the hypocrisy,
and all of that in-between,
growing up is being unable to show up on doorstops unannounced,
or knocking for your friends like you once did,
it’s plans going in the diary months in advance,
the death of surprises and spontaneity,
the birth of calendars and never-ending to-do lists,
growing up is circling properties on Rightmove,
when you once circled toys on the Argos catalogue,
it’s still being over budget,
knowing that not much has changed all these years later,
you’re still just a kid with dreams in a world that will not grant them to you,
growing up is realising that you will never be 16, 18, 21 or 25 again,
that after 30, life flashes by,
that the next milestone years you’ll celebrate will come in decades,
that you don’t know how many of these you have left,
that you can probably count the rest on one hand,
yet, you remember that the ‘best’ years of your life do not exist,
that you are just getting started,
that it only gets better,
it’s in the desperate attempts of your present self,
to make your younger self proud,
to not disservice your future self,
it’s in holding space for all these different versions and realities,
growing up is a series of repeated heartbreaks, even when you are happy,
it’s experiencing pain and joy in a single moment,
it’s two truths existing at the same time,
it’s in the realisation that you are both more and less special than you think,
growing up is realising that the syllabus failed to prepare you for real life,
that life is an endless cycle of trials and tribulations,
of learning and unlearning,
that experience is your greatest teacher,
it’s having the courage to admit,
‘I don’t know’,
‘I change my mind’
and ‘I’m sorry’,
it’s extending grace,
to yourself — just as much as you do to others,
it’s in discovering that we’re all still figuring it out,
and surrendering to that very fact,
it’s finding peace in the unknown,
it’s developing faith, and having it tested time and time again,
and I will try to remember that there was a time before,
before my life were a ticking time bomb before my eyes,
before my loved ones were a picture in a frame,
before my siblings and I convened in a group chat instead of over a meal,
before my father was an occasional phone call, and my mother a visit,
I will try to remember a time when I referred to the home I grew up in as mine, and not my ‘parents’ house’,
before I was acquainted with burdens and expectations,
before the repressed memories were the burning resentment I have yet to work through,
mostly,
growing up is uncovering what it truly means along the way,
its demands and possibilities,
its sacrifices and occasional triumphs,
it’s in wishing you hadn’t been in a rush to do so,
it’s appreciating the rare moments of stillness amid the chaos,
it’s realising that the grass is not always greener on the other side,
or even where you water it,
it’s in finally understanding the bliss in ignorance,
it’s questioning whether it would have easier to simply succumb to your naivety,
to have swallowed society’s opinion on the matter,
it’s wondering whether it’s too late to do so,
and,
in the process of growing up,
you ask yourself — how does anyone avoid falling down?
Sahra Mohamed is a writer based in London. She is particularly interested in exploring culture and identity through her work, having been featured in the 2021 print edition of the other side of hope journal. She is currently working on her debut novel, a historical fiction set in East Africa in the 1970s. She currently leads on the MFest Writers lab, a national writing development programme for Muslim writers in the early stages of their career in the UK. Sahra is also co-director at Home Girls Unite, a support group and platform for eldest immigrant daughters, where she works to challenge the conditions that create inequalities for girls and women in marginalised communities. Alongside this, Sahra is an Aziz Foundation Scholar, with a BSc in Pharmacology & Physiology and a MSc in Drug Discovery & Pharma Management from UCL.
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