The Silence My Mother Sewed
- Feb 9
- 1 min read
By Fizza Abbas
As a child I tasted chalk walls,
a mineral sweetness I could not name.
Cracks hid under the white,
stitched like my mother’s sweaters,
each thread a silence she kept.
Music drifted through the room,
Lata, Rafi, soft on her hands,
falling like small inheritances
I did not understand.
Mannequins watched from her shop,
plastic tongues halted mid-speech,
waiting for a language
that never reached us.
A blue-tinted moon waited above,
carved bright as cut stone.
Between sky and ocean,
limestone thinned to cement
and shaped itself into a single dot.
FIZZA ABBAS wanted to become a neurologist, but her brain gave up halfway through, so she now plays surgery games.
Art by Shrivaani Poddar
The image of chalk walls as a child and those "small inheritances" from the music really stayed with me—such a quiet, haunting way to capture what we absorb without knowing. Thanks for sharing this piece. By the way, I keep a free recipe site for late-night cravings I like to share: https://foodnevercomes.net/
The higher scores in Eggy Car are way harder than they look. I thought 300 meters was easy until I kept flipping over every hill.
Been using Nano Banana Pro for AI image generation recently. The Pro version handles more complex prompts and delivers sharper results — still powered by Gemini under the hood. Great for concept art and style experiments without any local setup.
This poem feels quiet and deeply personal. I’m new to this style, but the images—chalk, music, mannequins—create a soft, emotional mood that stays with you. It’s a bit like trying to understand a story piece by piece, almost like figuring things out in 1v1 lol , where meaning comes together slowly.
Nice posting, thanks for sharing.
Prestige Evergreen