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January 15th, 2026
by Ayesha Siddiqui
Six o'clock, a regrettable cry, throttled in a cord,
Though before the offering, one must grow to be idiosyncratic –
Finding ways to escape thrashing and endure all the red.
Unfortunately, being second in blood, last in all things,
Never could I have been first to anything.
My mother grasping her husband in whatever was left of him in her lad.
Oh, brother, oh my brother
Dichotomies are what siblings are meant to be.
All were so pleased.
I ponder. Each little gash on the timeworn walls leaves a lingering feeling
Never were you haunted – sitting in a room, up, away from soap-full mouths.
Yet, none believed I bore the pain from each scar on my mother's skin.
Yet, writing this is how far I've come, still being none to the first.
About the Poet
Ayesha Siddiqui resides in New Delhi, India.
Read the poet's biography and Wax Poetry and Art publications
on Ayesha Siddiqui's Artist Page.
This poem is also featured in Comet #7, published in the Wax Poetry and Art Library.
Keywords: sibling rivalry, dichotomies
Previously published in India Poetry Magazine:
For Aye
by Debanjana Majumdar
India Poetry Magazine is part of the Wax Poetry and Art Network.
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