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.

Image courtesy: AMUST

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.