Merak Magazine

My Living Dead Father

“Every time I see my father I see Hell as a human.”   My body is a room. I hanged my father’s portrait On the wall of emotional traumas around my heart. My heart is the place, I learnt how…

I am the war she talks about

We don’t talk about our dark days. Of all earth’s lush night plant life, you choose to call the girl with war in her mouth and bullets for dialect by a flower’s name. I am your love language with petals…