Hibah Shabkhez
Panacea
Goodbyes to people come with promises
Meant to remain unkept, and made simply to ease
The shedding of skins in new sunrises;
Places draw into silences that never cease
On the last day I look at the crisp
Brick-red of the nook where I shall no longer sit;
Curtains roiled upon lawn-breezes whisper
If you would hold this place close, read a book in it
Each place in which a new book is once read
Is consecrated; story-raised wraiths and the ghost
Of the self outgrown and gently discarded
Linger long in the leaves with hiraeth for their host
Panacea
Goodbyes to people come with promises
Meant to remain unkept, and made simply to ease
The shedding of skins in new sunrises;
Places draw into silences that never cease
On the last day I look at the crisp
Brick-red of the nook where I shall no longer sit;
Curtains roiled upon lawn-breezes whisper
If you would hold this place close, read a book in it
Each place in which a new book is once read
Is consecrated; story-raised wraiths and the ghost
Of the self outgrown and gently discarded
Linger long in the leaves with hiraeth for their host
Hibah Shabkhez is a writer of the half-yo literary tradition, an erratic language-learning enthusiast, a teacher of French as a foreign language and a happily eccentric blogger from Lahore, Pakistan. Her work has previously appeared in The Mojave Heart Review, Third Wednesday, Brine, and a number of other literary magazines. Studying life, languages and literature from a comparative perspective across linguistic and cultural boundaries holds a particular fascination for her.
*”Hiraeth” is a Welsh concept that signifies a deep longing for home.