Amna

Amna was born in Islamabad, the city of Bari Imam Sarkar. She lives and works in London. She writes fiction and poetry, and tries her best to listen to her heart.

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Ana al-Haqq*

1

It was the loudest voice in your head

it never needed to rest

hey, it said

listen to this

no one likes you

and that’s a fact

they say you’re fat

and ugly

and that you can never find the right words when they come to play

hey,

why not toughen up a bit

try therapy

anything to resolve this paper-thin skin situation you have going on

hey listen

everyone knows, you know

about you and the things you did

it’s just despicable they say, unbearable

hey,

don’t cry now

that’s boring

and you’re thirty-fucking six.

2

It was the day after your birthday, the wind was icy

on the concrete around your feet it said no entry

this box marked yellow was dangerous and for staff only

risk of death on a sign nearby, above the drawing of a man’s spread-out body

you got right up to the edge

rocked your feet

the steel track looked up, glimmered reassuringly

it said don’t worry darling, nothing escapes the weight of six hundred and forty

passenger seats, in the meantime practice your rocking and think about your thrust,

like when you want to hug somebody

though it was hard to ignore the toddler on the platform opposite chasing a leaf

tsk the steel said, tsk

all is not lost you protested, you could still climb down and lay yourself out and wait for the ground to rumble  

but the mother screamed and the toddler too

and yellow jackets came

step back miss, step back

and they got their hands on you

an angry grip, ashamed

come with us, they said

through the bright blue door

was a room with the heating on high

plastic chairs

an electric kettle, mugs, and a packet of tea

the one they left with you had a salt and pepper beard

on his feet, comfy black shoes with velcro straps

he spoke furiously into his radio, and it crackled back, mostly about you

he locked the door while you waited

he recited from his little pocket Quran into your ear.

3

They asked you

about hurt

memories

that chronic fatigue

about the day after your birthday

about the time with the box of ibuprofens

they always asked if you could speak a bit louder please

every day they asked if you would describe the day so far as a

good day or a bad day and why

one day you told them about the voice in the shower that sometimes whispers to you about love

when on occasion you laughed they said it carried in the wind

the colour of the leaves changed twice before they suggested you go

find a way in the city again

you cried that day.

4

You left your phone in the shop on the way home

tucked between cans of cannelloni beans

Akshay the shop-keeper might have seen

but he only nodded as you turned to leave

you tried to hydrate and eat and wash regularly

you walked and walked.

5                                                        

What are you doing here, in the middle of nowhere, the man named Viktor asked.

I am looking for a potion, you said. somebody said I would find it here where the pine trees form a circle and every tree has a nest

what sort of potion? I have a few

the sort that will put me at ease

he sang a little song while he rummaged through his things

don’t sing, you said, please

he scratched his head. this thing you need, it needs time.

6

You found people to breathe with

come in they said,

come closer

together you sounded like the beating heart of a single wounded animal

even the mighty moon that looked in seemed shy.

7

The artist living above you threw a birthday party

you waited until eleven pm to put on a dress too tight

you crept slowly up the stairs practising your smile

it turned out not to matter

you swayed easily with other bodies under their dim lights.

*Ana al-Haqq is the famous cry of Sufi Master Mansur Al-Hallaj, who was executed in the 10th century for this very statement. It means ‘I am truth.’

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