Mom, We’re Not the Same Anymore: Our Equations Have Changed!
Nothing changed much, mom,
but everything did.
They say change is a constant,
but this constant became a coefficient
always racing to catch me
(before me).
Had it been π,
I would have drawn a perfect circle,
& roamed around it like a blind pigeon
from point A to point B
confusing distance with displacement
& time with velocity.
Who cares about vectors when scalars can show you the path?
They lied when they said, only a straight line can take you to places, mom.
Tell them graves come in zero curvatures.
Had it been e,
I’d have built skyscrapers from the ground up,
& broken them piece-by-piece, laughing like a maniac
or maybe a child who removes a block from a tower in Jenga, causing it to fall
and then happily switches to Legos to feel the joy of building.
The child now daily digs holes in the ground
thinking they’re pyramids.
Had it been i,
I’d have removed the word, ‘iota’ from a dictionary,
linguists would have said that she brought a “.” of change’
a period, mom! Ha-ha, they would use a punctuation in place of a word,
a pause that stayed with me the moment you brought it all to a full-stop.
Yes, you, mom. Remember I give the credit where it’s due?
So, yeah, wear the damn hat, you silly coy!
Had it been c,
I’d have raced across the universe faster than the blink of an eye,
in a desperate chase to find you
& you’d have raced even faster to avoid me –
your old stupid tactics, I know
But you know what I’d have done?
Take a warp drive or become a tachyon,
leaving you with only two options:
to travel with me or find me among other hypotheticals.
Had it been G,
I’d have defied the pull of the earth,
shifting mountains and oceans,
to bridge the chasm that keeps us apart
but you’d have defied this too, right?
Well, I’d have changed my value or place,
to close the distance and find my way to you.
You’d have no chance to escape me!
Had it been h,
I’d have harnessed every ounce of energy,
to talk to you and dad and teach you fools to play chess
It’s a fun game, mom.
Here, we have pawns who create a lot of ruckus
like I used to, as a child,
annoying you with a ton of questions,
forcing you to respond in umms & ahs –
the word, ‘fuck’ was alien to you & me at the time.
Fuck, I’m imagining you using the word & you look so cute, mom! WTF!
You know, I’ve just realized something:
the constant I was searching for was you
& the change you wanted to see was me –
Not within me.
But I’ve a question:
if constant=you & change =me,
Where are you?
Where am I?
We are not the same anymore.
Hence proved.
Here’s a challenge for you now: Disprove me, will you?
Please me, mom, prove me wrong.
I have never wanted so badly to be proven wrong!
Fizza Abbas is a writer based in Karachi, Pakistan. She is fond of poetry and music. Her work has appeared in more than 100 journals, both online and in print. Her work has also been nominated for Best of The Net and shortlisted for Oxford Brookes International Poetry Competition 2021.