باورچی خانہ بھی مجھ سے نفرت کرتا ہے (ایک آٹھ سالہ بچہ، ایک ظالم گھرانے میں)

 

POEM: ENGLISH TRANSLATION

 

The Kitchen Hates Me Too
 An eight-year-old child in an abusive household

 

Mom and Dad are yelling again.

Louder than thunder,
More frightening than the laughter of ghosts.

Their shouts slam against the walls,
As if trying to tear the entire house apart.

I’m hungry,
But I know the kitchen is off-limits
When they fight.
Still, I creep in quietly,
Like a lost ghost,
So the floor won’t betray my steps.

My stomach aches and whimpers,
The noodle packet rustles too loudly,
As if trying to get me caught,
As if it’s angry at me

The pot glares,
The spoon sneers,
The bowl growls,
The knife races as if ready to strike,

I stir slowly,
So quietly,
Yet everything feels deafeningly loud.

The stove groans,
Its fierce blue flame flickers,
It sobs,
It sighs,

or maybe just trembles.

Even the water
starts to boil angry.

I just want to eat.
But everything in here
feels like Mom and Dad—

Loud, scary, on the verge of exploding.

I just want noodles.

But maybe the noodles want something else.

I stir—
shakily,
awkwardly,

Don’t look up.
Don’t breathe too loud.

The noodles twist away from me, trembling, shaking
they don’t want me touching them.

I think the kitchen hates me too.