You know…
Being a daughter…
Isn’t just about being born.
It’s about—
Carrying your own silence
Like a second skin.
Nisar Banbhan, a seasoned poet and writer, based in Karachi, the capital city of Sindh shares his poetry
Hailing from Village Mir Muhammad Banbhan, Taluka Mirwah, District Khapurpur and based in Karachi, the capital of Sindh, Nisar Banbhan is a seasoned professional with nearly 25 years of multifaceted experience, encompassing 3 years in journalism and over two decades of service in a public sector organization. His extensive expertise spans content creation, scriptwriting, screenwriting, lyrics, poetry, and storytelling across multiple languages, including Sindhi, Urdu, and English. Nisar has honed his skills in writing articles, columns, and short stories, contributing to various national and regional media outlets. Additionally, he brings a deep understanding of program development, educational advocacy, and strategic planning, having led initiatives that promote quality education and foster community empowerment. His passion for literature and education merges seamlessly, enabling him to craft impactful narratives that resonate with diverse audiences while driving meaningful change in society.
Being a Daughter… Isn’t Easy
You know…
Being a daughter…
Isn’t just about being born.
It’s about—
Carrying your own silence
Like a second skin.
It’s about wanting
But not choosing.
About dreaming—
But not asking.
It’s about tying your voice
Into a soft little knot…
So it doesn’t echo louder
Than your father’s expectations.
It’s about nodding,
Again and again—
Not because you agree,
But because your mother’s eyes
Are full of worry…
And your brother’s pride
Sits like a nameplate
You dare not scratch.
Even freedom
Comes dressed in someone else’s smile.
Even choices
Are folded neatly
To fit inside
The comfort of others.
And those dreams?
The ones she drew with crayons
On invisible walls—
She trades them.
For peace.
For pride.
For permission.
She says “yes”
With lips that learned
How to tremble quietly.
She stays up late,
Deciding
What not to decide.
And if,
Just once,
She chooses for herself—
And the world doesn’t clap
The way she hoped it would…
Then suddenly—
A mistake
Becomes a monument.
A shadow that follows her
Into every room,
Into every silence.
They remind her.
Over and over.
Like her error was not a wound—
But a crime.
And yet,
When parents make the same mistake…
All it takes is one sigh:
“Perhaps… it was fate.”
Tell me—
Why is it so difficult
For a daughter
To simply…
Breathe?
Why must her joy
Come with a clause?
Why must her laughter
Feel borrowed?
Why must she
Apologize
For wanting to live…
Just a little…
For herself?
By God—
Have you ever really heard
A daughter’s “I’m fine”?
It trembles.
It breaks.
It begs you to notice
The absence of color
In her rainbow.
She smiles—
Not because she’s happy,
But because someone else is.
And even then…
Even after all that—
If she stumbles—
Just once—
The world
Writes her mistake
In stone.
While her brother’s pride
And her father’s name
Stand tall
In the courtroom of her choices.
Being a daughter
Isn’t easy.
It’s not life.
It’s a lifetime of
Gentle suffocation.
A slow surrender.
An endless,
Silent,
Apology—
To her own soul.
_____________
