Born Lucky

by Hibah Shabkhez


Born too late to be children of the spring
Lost too early for the grave of the fall
You fly.

Grateful still that your abyss-bearing thing
Is paltry, unbombed, unburnt, one-foot tall
You lie.

So crave fried eggs and gnaw at stalks beside
Your feet guilt-chained to an exam-clock fate
And cry.

Stumble down your mole hill, curl up inside
The oozing core of a dark chocolate
And die.




Hibah Shabkhez is a writer of the half-yo literary tradition, an erratic language-learning enthusiast, a teacher of French as a foreign language and a happily eccentric blogger from Lahore, Pakistan. Her work has previously appeared in The Mojave Heart Review, Third Wednesday, Brine, Petrichor, Remembered Arts, Rigorous, and elsewhere.

Consider supporting Protean Magazine on Patreon!
Become a patron at Patreon!