Sheikha A.

Sheikha A. is from Pakistan and United Arab Emirates. Her work appears in over 80 literary venues like Mad Swirl, The Bitchin’ Kitsch, Praxis Magazine, About Place Journal, Off the Coast, Hall of Poets International and elsewhere including several anthologies by different presses. More about her can be accessed on

Sea Moon

A road divider on our thoroughfare

has been constructing since three

major eclipses, going under the idea

scalpel by fickle engineers – flowers

or trees – it’s a hard decision to make

from having spent a decade trampled

upon by preoccupied feet steeped in

eccentricities of a short-legged economy,

and now it’s surface is suddenly replaced

unsure of how it will maintain, the ground

has been retching a sea of sand, spilling

over the newly set paves; an old age

worker blows smoke into a humid

detached air; he must dream about

merchants, the waves of a teal road,

the silvering of his skin,

the coming out of a moon.



Olive Nest

There is no home, the floods have

swept back into their spillway;


whatever flat irons were meant

to hold the power of an angry god


in its rings, all of the metaphorical

praying, praising, chanting, humming –


the power of parched intestines –

all of the self-imposed frugality


dredge a shrunken stomach to the sky:

the rise of a lord of the swinging arrows


with a broken bough slung over; weak

is the smallness of the hole that holds


the entire coming of bloom from light

where olives will be rained on dead soil


and from them the head of a seedling

will grow tall into strong walls of fire


no water shall overpower; the feast of

closed mouths missing milk teeth –


the food of heaven on whitened tongue.

Share This Post!