All Sunsets Are Book-Aftertastes

by Hibah Shabkhez 

You open the book at the same worn page -

Bu kitap eski, pero es bueno;

It dreams with you of war-feasts doomed to go

Uneaten, of mountains shrouded in mist.


This abyss is not dark, but glistening.

Its silken sheath wraps up your twirling yolk,

Carves you a self. You fret, but know the joke

Is on you; Humptys can fall, but not jump


Off walls and out of cages. Now the abyss

Stares back, then blinks you an invitation,

And you dive right in. The destination

Is despair. You know. You always have known.



Hibah Shabkhez is a writer of the half-yo literary tradition, an erratic language-learning enthusiast, and a happily eccentric blogger from Lahore, Pakistan. Her work has previously appeared in Black Bough, Zin Daily, London Grip, The Madrigal, Acropolis Journal, Lucent Dreaming, 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. Linktree: