Hannan Khan
Falling Between Seconds
the clock is black hole
tickticktickticktickticktickticktickticktick—
12:01 AM and i’m already falling
…………………………………………………drifting…………………………….slipping
………………………………………………………………….spinning
new year’s resolutions like a torn confetti in a sooty
…………………………………………………………………………………. subway tunnel
like nostalgic receipts from last year’s bad decision—
……………………………………………………………………………. bad decisions
………………………………………………………………………………………………. were they?
curling at the edges… whispering like someone—
…………………………………………………………………………. “this is the year”
and the year laughing back.
// a blackened doorway beckons //
inside the intoxicating champagne glass is a door
and inside the door is another door
inside the door is a room with your name…………………………..spelled backward in neon.
Inside the enchanting neon glow is a forgotten voicemail you never sent
inside the voicemail is the fainted sound of shadowy running water
inside the glassy water is a silver coin sinking—
…………………………………………………………………… drooping
inside the silver coin is the blurred reflection of your hands
inside your hands is the whole year waiting—…………………waiting…………………waiting
inside the waiting is nothing at all…………………..nothing…………………..nothing—
………. ……….
………. ……….
……………………………………this year, let’s dig further
………………………………………………….(you said)
……………………………………………………………..(but what if there’s no bottom)
the new year silently opens like a trap door in the middle of a lingering sentence and i am—
freefalling
into the empty space
…………………..between 11:59 & 12:00
…………………………………between past & present
………………………………………………..between ex & next
…………………………………………………………… between too much & not much
……………………………………………………………………. between i swear i will & i swear i won’t.
the floor disappears and gravity sighs
not footing, only vertigo:
your zealous birthday candle wishes stacked like unpaid bills
your childhood radiant dreams taped to the bottom of a dusty drawer
your unopened lovely letter floating like drowned beaked birds
your ex’s last words bluntly eating themselves into savaged silence
your mother’s voice leaving voicemails you never answer
your body a threadbare parachute riddled with stillness, catching nothing at all.
hello?
……………(is there an echo down here?)
hello?
……………(is there an echo down here?)
hello—
—suddenly, i land.
at the bottom of a coffee cup
at the bottom of my inbox
at the bottom of an empty bed
at the bottom of a void glass that isn’t mine
at the bottom of an unfinished thought—
and i look up and it is still January 1st and the clock
is still ticking and the year is still waiting…
and i’m still falling
……………………………falling
……………………………………falling
ticktickticktickticktickticktickticktick—
_______________
Hannan Khan — a nefelibata, poet, and scholar of literature & linguistics from Pakistan. He combs through moments of love, death, delirium & relational complexities, seraphically tracing what’s breathed and what flickers unbreathed. His pen grooves between haibun & heartbreak, ghazals & ghost games, intimacy & apocalypse. When he craves reprieve, he devours dark thrillers like he’s dissecting crime scenes — psychological, raw, unpredictable. He thrives on distorting ordinary until it sings. Sips coffee, reads Manto & lets the world unravel. Featured in Failed Haiku, IHRAM Literary Magazine, SpecPoVerse & forthcoming in Graveside Press. Poetry is his altar; Fiction, his rebellion. He writes to unsettle, to unearth, to unlace.
[‘Nefelibata’ is Portuguese for cloud walker: someone who lives in their own imagination and dreams. Editor]
Backstory & Author’s Comments: “Falling Between Seconds” was penned on the cusp of a New Year’s Eve where celebration felt hollow & time itself felt warped. I was struck by how performative the ‘fresh start’ often is — how we don our grief & inertia in glitter & countdowns, but underneath it all, we’re still haunted by the sediment [sentiment] of what was deserted unresolved. This piece emerged from that suspended moment between 11:59 & 12:00 — where we’re told to hope but also grasp the crushing weight of what didn’t change. I wanted the form to echo this emotional freefall — using cascading indentation, recursive imagery & fragmentation to simulate vertigo & dissociation. Time morphs into both setting & antagonist here, always ticking, never pausing, while the self is scattered across voicemails, subway tunnels, inboxes & half-finished thoughts.
Editor’s Comments and Image Credit: An excerpt from the poem served as input to an art generator (Wixel by Wix.com):
…..“inside the intoxicating champagne glass is a door
…..inside the door is another door in neon
…..Inside the enchanting neon glow is a forgotten voicemail you never sent
…..inside the voicemail is the fainted sound of shadowy running water
…..inside the glassy water is a silver coin sinking
…..inside the silver coin is the blurred reflection of your hands”