A Paint Bucket of Words

you

Just because a lost explorer,
with a funny hat and binoculars,
hasn't stumbled upon you yet
and named you after himself,
doesn't mean you aren't
the land, a city in yourself
bustling with fervour
Of secret hideouts,
late night coffees,
the sunrise at the roof,
the dreamy sky and shaky streets.

For you, my love, are
a museum of stories,
a lovesong.
The ocean that sings back the blue to the sky,
the sun that wakes up all night
to light up the moon.

Just because the night gazers
didn't spend hours looking at you,
searching for constellations,
tracing and naming each scar
(Sorry, I meant star)

Just because the poet next door
didn't burn his midnight oil,
to string a poem out of you
or dress you in a pretty metaphor,
doesn't mean you aren't one.
Heck, you don't even have to be another
poem for students to strip off.

You are enough
Repeat after me,
"I am enough."
A thousand times and more.
Because you are you.
"Because I am me."

The pink in your cheeks,
your hair a hundred shades
of black, brown and purple.
Your head a chaotic townsquare,
like an Indian bazaar
Exchange wisdom with a good night's rest
Buy reality for innocence
Your dreams please, for their honey-dripping lies
Pushing through the throng
Holding yourself together
Like a child gripping his mother's hand
And hair a bird's nest,
lopsided glasses
on a bumpy nose.
Your big eyes speak of hope
Like a mockingjay in a burnt district.

You are enough.

-Zaynab
19 July '22