The Lost Blessing

Time seems to have frozen. There is always a permanent state of wonder. Leaves continuously fall from the tree during an endless autumn. The days become colder and darker and the piles of decaying leaves surround the doomed tree. There is no wind to carry them away. The tree, however, has to withstand the autumn. It cannot withdraw from the fate that awaits it. The winter that will follow seems like a distant tale told by wanderers who take shelter under the tree. He sat under the tree, counting the falling leaves but if you asked him how many have fallen so far; he would not know. He sat there for what seemed to be forever. The world does not wait. The day came when he finally had to get up from under the tree and continue the walk of life, pretending to never have known the tree and its fate, silently stepping on the decaying leaves on the ground around him. One step at a time, he walked towards his path. A path he had never meant to have taken and did not know where it led. He wonders if it is alright for him to come back and count the falling leaves every once in a while, to see if the autumn has finally transformed into the long-dreaded winter? Perhaps he left a part of himself under the tree. He wonders if the falling leaves will ever stop and the part he left behind will follow the path he took to find him at the end of his journey. Soon he found himself standing in the middle of a never-ending landscape. Vast flat fields over barren land. All around him, he could see nothing but the drying earth and the scorching sun high up in cloudless skies. The rest of his journey has to be through these unforgiving lands. An endless walk which was more taxing on the mind than on his limbs. A weary traveler he has become, yet he cannot turn back and the path he walks is only known and remembered by himself. There are many things one cannot hold on to for a lifetime. Regret is one of these things. But what sort of regret is warranted? I ask this question from myself often. Should you hold yourself responsible for the actions of others? Should you continue to regret and blame yourself for the unfortunate outcomes? At what point do you accept the reality and try to overcome everything that puts you in a state of constant regret? A continuing desolation consumes oneself slowly. Perhaps the most unfortunate lesson I have learned is that only those who have a clear conscience are the ones who are affected by this desolation. The latter has a plethora of justifications for their actions, most of which are illusions behind which they hide while deflecting all responsibility and blame.

The tree was once full of life until one quiet night, during which the ground was silent and there were no stars above. Just a lonely moon, behind the dark clouds peeking down. He sat quietly on the stairs of his porch, as if behind a curtain that drowned all the noise around him. He felt like he was alone, with only the silence to keep him company. It seemed as if time had stopped and everything he cared for no longer mattered. He sat there, staring into the endless night and letting every thought his mind ever carried scream inside his head, for no amount of pain could intimidate him now. In his loss, his heart had started to turn into stone. Life is always full of impediments and difficulties. For him the past year was much like a never-ending storm. A constant, relentless onslaught of difficulties. Of all these troubles, the one that took a toll on him was his failed marriage. He had been lied to, deceived, used, and threatened. But the disintegration of the abusive marriage was not what brought him down. The slandering and constant blackmailing were not what he feared either. He had endured all these storms until this very night. He gazed at the peeking moon and wondered if he will ever see his child. He could fight against everyone and everything to get that chance. But just because he could, he thought deeply and questioned, should he? In many societies and cultures, men lose so much more when a marriage ends. I’m talking about the good men, who are honest, hardworking, sincere, and who go out of their way to make things work. I’m talking about those gentle souls, who repeatedly forgive even after being hurt in every possible way. In the end – they rarely find support. They are left alone and abandoned. They lose material things as well as their mental well-being. They are seen as weak if they try to reach out. They are just expected to bear all the burdens even in death . . . Why?

Time keeps passing. “Today, she would have been a year old,” he whispered to himself. It was past midnight and there was no light around him as he laid still on the bed. Distant sounds of the city were softly breaking the silence around him. He reached for his phone and held it close to his face, letting its bright light pierce his eyes. He stared at the screen, blinking as little as his watery eyes would allow. He kept staring at the phone without moving. There was a cool breeze outside, which was making a soft whistling sound as it passed the slightly open window and danced around his room. He had a profound smile on his face and sleep was long gone from him. He had spent the last year counting days and trying to come to terms with his fate. He spent his time preparing for the day he would see the tree again. It was growing, and soon it would be beautiful and perfect. There was anger inside him. Anger against those who deceived him and took away the tree from him. There was good in him though, for he had forgiven them. He did not seek vengeance. He was strong, but not strong enough to be kept away from the tree; and that was an everlasting torment, designed by those who failed to trap him in their webs. He blinked but his eyes were no longer moist. They were empty, just like the smile he had. He ran a finger across the screen trying to feel her. She looked a lot like him and that always gave a certain comfort to him. He began noticing the breeze and the city noise seemed louder now. “I hope you have the same heart your father has. Wherever you are, and whatever you do, it will guide you, and someday you will find your way back home.” He looked at her beautiful picture on the phone one more time and then put the phone against his chest and closed his eyes. An arduous path, fate has set before him indeed. The kind which relentlessly taxes his spirit and has begun to slowly erode the very seams of his sanity. The deafening cries inside his mind keep him awake and the deception, lies, and manipulation have made their mark on his thoughts. The decision to forgive and not seek retribution has now weakened the once willful patient man. They say that those who leave such matters to faith and goodwill eventually find peace.

Does the father, who withdraws; not because of the unending repression by the ruffians hiding behind their false agenda, but due to his deliberate choice of not separating his daughter from her mother, not deserve better? Or would it have been wiser for him to have unleashed his wrath until he could have had her in his arms? On this path, I have found that a father who withdraws for the sake of his child has a love far greater than the one who does not. I would have never forgiven myself, for letting you be used as leverage by those who sought mischief. I left you in God’s care and I hope you have the same heart as me for you will need it to climb out of the moral-less abyss. I have not been able to sleep properly yet and may never be able to. Whatever you will be told and taught; I can only imagine. You will only hear slander about your father. They will instill hatred inside your heart for him. But he passes his days knowing that there is a God above. He passes his days knowing that his blood runs in your veins.

The Rapport – Issue # 3


Whats Inside:

Walking on colours by Amna Akmal

Kindred by Eman Fatima

Survival in a Scary Society by Hadia Qureshi

Life goes on by Hooria Nawaz

Wanderer of a Lost Path by Raveeha Rameen

Nature Walk by Mahnoor Munir

Quietus by Muskan Asif

The Lighthouse by Sumbal Khan

Her Own Infinities by Tooba Fayyaz

Note: The cover photo is by Fatima Bokhari.
(Email: fatibk14@icloud.com, Instagram: @thephotoaisle)


Walking on Colours by Amna Akmal


Name: Amna Akmal
Email: amna.akmal96@gmail.com
Instagram: @heydoodyyy


Kindred by Eman Fatima


Name: Eman Fatima
Email: emanminhas8@gmail.com
Instagram: @eman.a.r.t


Survival in a Scary Society by Hadia Qureshi

Alas, we live in a society
which completely lacks sobriety
people here can only give you anxiety
don’t trust every hand you shake
some people are simply fake

Somewhere you have become hollow
for you it’s difficult to swallow
you know that your pain is so deep
every night it doesn’t let you sleep
your purpose you haven’t found
you are completely astound

You won’t get any sympathy
people here lack empathy
despite efforts, none will encourage
don’t give up, have some courage

Name: Hadia Qureshi
Email: hadiaqureshi10@gmail.com
Instagram: hadiaqureshi10


Life Goes On by Hooria Nawaz


In three words I can sum up everything I’ve learned about life: “it goes on”. Yes, you read it right, it goes on. No doubt, life is beautiful but it is also challenging. The challenges that we come across sometimes tell us who we are and sometimes what we should be. There will be bad days, there will be struggles, but still it goes on. No matter who you are, it teaches a lesson to everyone. You just have to be willing to learn. Difficulties test the courage, patience, preservation and the characteristic of a human being. Struggles and hardships make a person strong and ready to face all the challenges of life. Sometimes, people sit and cry over petty problems and think that this is the end, but still life goes on. These petty problems don’t mean a thing as it is said that the darkest hour of the night comes just before the dawn. Life is not just a bed of roses; thorns are also a part of it and one must learn to accept the thorns too because if you don’t feel the pointed things in life, you will take the soft ones for granted. Whatever happens in life happens for good. Whatever decision God takes for us is already planned and we must learn to accept it. When God tests you or removes something in your possession, it is never to destroy you or it is not the end, it is only to test you and give you something even greater – something which you could’ve never imagined having.

Name: Hooria Nawaz
Email: hoorianawaz22@gmail.com
Instagram: hooria_nawaz


Wanderer of a Lost Path by Raveeha Rameen

I looked at the brilliant full moon, it seemed to know the entirety of my mysteries. After the mists secured the moon, a shooting star streaked above it as if it was instructed by the moon itself to make me pronounce my wish. I remained there under the huge sky and looked up with my yearning eyes. I bit my tongue on the off chance that I might say what my heart already knew. I did not need to make my wish. Maybe it’s what my heart aches for. Maybe I simply professed to move on. Maybe I never discovered my way back. Maybe I’m currently lost in the immeasurability of the sky and the depths of the night. Maybe I have made depression a norm for myself. I need to escape from the web of recollections. When I ought to be appreciative of what I have, I’m looking back at what I have lost. I’m lost in my dreams and it’s keeping me far from the real world. I’m lost. I long to escape to be discovered only for once. I need to accept the truth however; I’m drowning in wistfulness. Maybe because you made me feel something once and that feeling continuously compels me to return to you. I’m being drained but nobody sees. I can’t get up. How can I fix myself, when I don’t recognize what holds the greater part of me?

I would rather just stay broken.

Name: Raveeha Rameen
Email : raveeharameen8@gmail.com
Instagram: Rameen028


Nature Walk by Mahnoor Munir

Name: Mahnoor Munir
Email: samunir55@gmail.com
Instagram: mahnoor_munir.5


Quietus by Muskan Asif

There’s a monster under my bed
a wraith inside my head
and blood in the tears
my crimson eyes shed;
for my distraught heart has bled
more pitch-black than red
all my feelings have faded,
and into mere oblivion
all the memories I had
without a trace, have fled;
as I await the final blow
advent of the angel of death;
but my functioning, yet empty, self
may deceive the observers
I’m perfectly fine and satisfied,
no dear, I’m a walking corpse
emotionally dead;
and once my time arrives
as I gasp for my ultimate breath
I recognize it as a beginning
because physical pain will succeed
the mental torment I endured;
then, decay will surface
and my carcass may shred
I will be okay, like I’m today
so you shall not dread
as this apparent death
is my only escape.

Name: Muskan Asif
Email: muskan.asif.2007@gmail.com
Instagram: @muskan_writes


The Lighthouse by Sumbal Khan

Name: Sumbul Khan
Email: sumbul.khan1801@yahoo.com
Instagram: @acryliques


Her Own Infinities by Tooba Fayyaz

Name: Tooba Fayyaz
Email: toobafayyaz1010@gmail.com
Instagram: @theprocrastinatormusings


The Simple Impediment

It was a slow day. The birds seemed to be engaged in a never-ending song that could be heard from above in the vast trees. Their shade extended over the wild grass. The sun was shining through the leaves, flickering on the narrow paths under the trees. These paths, much like the trees in which the birds had made their homes, were a product of time. The grass was worn down by timeless feet, moving under the trees. There was a set of large stones almost next to the trunk of the oldest tree. It was a natural, yet necessary place of rest for all those who ventured there. It is often heard that spending time in nature brings peace. A chance to clear your mind, gather your thoughts, and to look around at the natural arrangement of so many things existing in harmony. It makes you wonder, what are we doing here? In a perfectly balanced environment, we have a plethora of complicated problems to deal with. Most of them, ironically are created by our very own existence. Humans creating problems for humans. Is this what we are here to do? To avoid, solve, or handle circumstances that disturb our peace. Circumstances that we don’t even have anything to do with? Why don’t we have the choice to just alleviate ourselves from this turmoil and become peaceful? “We do”, he answered. We sat on the stones as the leaves rustled above us in the gentle wind. The flickering sun warmed our backs as we enjoyed a magnificent view of unending plains and far off mountains. “We can tame ourselves to love who we are and reflect our self-understanding in our everyday interactions by controlling our emotions, prioritizing virtue, and practicing self-love” He looked at me with a rather assuring smile, “When you know your true worth, you learn to withdraw from things and circumstances that are not worth your peace yet you don’t choose momentary peace over a righteous struggle to achieve something lasting”. It occurred to me that there many things one may want and would also be ready to risk their peace so I asked him, “What about the things and circumstance we prefer and want?” He gazed at me patiently and replied, “We all work for what seems right to us. Sometimes, we get what we want”. This statement raised more questions than it had answered. Instantly, I leaned closer and asked, “And when we don’t get what we want?” He seemed annoyed by the question as if I had asked something strange. I looked at him intently, but as he shrugged and took a deep breath, “Then you get what you deserved all along …”, he closed his eyes as he added, “…something a lot better hopefully”. I looked at him and my mind kept stirring. This is what I had learned from him so far; When you heal others and let them know you will always be there no matter what, they often take you for granted. That is perhaps the truest of all tests. A person who does not value you at their strongest does not deserve you. Sometimes people blame others so they don’t have to feel guilty for what they did to them. I understood that when people say something, they don’t always mean it. The only person who really should matter to you is yourself. I was slowly beginning to understand the process of recovery. I asked him, “How does one recover from a debacle? Especially, one concerning losing people you care about for no apparent reasons? Why is such loss difficult for one, but seems so easy for the other?”, He replied calmly. “I have learned that you should walk away from people who use their issues to measure every single thing you say or do and let their past shape your relationship with them. Love is not about healing others. It’s about loving them regardless of their wounds”.

I arranged the thoughts in my mind as I realized that recovery to some extent, however, does come with time. You can heal, but the scars always remain. The road to recovery starts from forgetting everything you were told about yourself and venturing on to find who you were before it all happened. Recovery is about being yourself again, loving yourself again, and prioritizing yourself again. Recovery is all about staying true to who you are and always were. It is about learning from your mistakes. It is about using how others treat you to grow as a human. It is about not letting the cruelty of others and this world shape you. What I have found is that recovery begins at forgiveness and it takes place at self-realization and ends at growth. The process is not easy and it takes time. It is, however something we all must do to create a better space for ourselves and the people around us. The little acts of kindness, the mere effort put in bringing about smiles, the simple joy of giving – all these things become a part of a person who has forgiven, realized self, and have in turn grown. The pointless noise of the world no longer excites them. They start doing things they have always wanted to, breaking the imaginary chains they put on themselves for the sake of others. They become fearless and independent of everything and everyone. They become enough for themselves and this very feeling makes them content and happy. So, one can say, that recovery is about self-love, but what exactly is self-love? I have often wondered. We hear a lot about self-love, but how do we define it, and to what degree can we indulge in self-love without becoming selfish or narcissistic? While researching this, I came across Aristotle’s definition. He states that people who love themselves to achieve unwarranted personal gain are selfish/erroneous, but those who love themselves to achieve virtuous principles are the best sort of good. This helped me understand a lot about myself. To expand on this definition, it can be established that self-love is not about personal gain. It is about achieving virtue. It is about, respecting oneself and loving oneself enough to reach a plateau of moral, ethical, and virtuous principles. To define these principles, we need to delve deeper into moral philosophy. However, when you focus on taming yourself, it is essential to derive satisfaction from the day to day good deeds. To love oneself, it is important to see yourself as a source of “good”. To become “good”, you need to first learn to forgive and be patient. To reach this realization, an individual must go through a life experience that forces one to ponder over oneself, their purpose, and their situation. I have found that those who are quick to produce conclusions and are often satisfied by their view and opinions only are the ones who have not yet reached the maturity or the life experience required to practice self-love. People who will go the extra mile to justify their actions, their words, and their reasoning, but they will not stop to take in the present reality or the “bigger picture”. They often like to pretend that things are not in their control. They come into your life and make you believe what they perceive is and will always be correct – even about yourself. To escape them you have to understand your worth. You have to understand the self.

I also learned that there is another trait, that is required to practice self-love; Emotional intelligence. The key to controlling situations and retaining your inner peace is restraint. This is the only task he had assigned himself for a while now. To practice restraint. The art of self-control. In learning self-love, he found that perhaps the greatest accomplishment of a mind is to have the ability to control itself. It was on our way back home when he revealed the purpose of our journey. All this time, I had thought that the answer to everything related to ‘self’ was the experiences we all have in our lives. That everything that happens to us and around us defines our image, or rather our understanding of ourselves. Little did I know, that it was quite the opposite. The way we react to situations, problems, and challenges in our lives is in our control. To exercise that control, we need to practice restraint. We need to learn to control our emotions and hence our reactions by being calm and restraining ourselves. This gives us power over ourselves. This gives us the power to define ourselves and in turn, understand ourselves. This is the pinnacle of self-love, awareness, and discovery. When you get there, nothing can control you and disturb your peace. When you get there, nothing can impact your self-image and nothing can affect your ability to love yourself. When you get there, you understand your worth. You ‘restrain’ yourself against the negativity of all nature. You grow bigger than the everyday noise. You stop indulging in activities and companies that drain you. Your emotions are in your control. You embrace your feelings and give yourself enough space and time to let logic and restraint define your reaction. “So how do you do that?” I asked, wondering how one can develop restraint and emotional intelligence. “Solitude” he replied. “Regardless of the method you choose, if you are trying or even just thinking about it, you have already started your journey” The answer to the simple impediment is restraint.

The Rapport – Issue #2


Whats Inside:

Tangle by Anjuna Ushani

Potrait by Fariha Nasir

Wabi – Sabi by Anam Ranjha

Flowers by Jannat Mehmood

Painting by Maham Raza

Old City by Noor-e-Nimrah

A memory to reminisce forever by Rashda Basit

Boxes by Ramsha Rizvi

Trepidation by Khizra Akhtar

Note: The cover is a photo is by Ramsha Rizvi


Tangle by Anjuna Ushani

Name: Anjuna Ushani
Instagram: aestheticam_x
Email: anneushani19920@gmail.com


Potrait by Fariha Nasir

Name: Fariha Nasir
Instagram: fariha1574
Email: fnasir944@gmail.com


Wabi – Sabi by Anam Ranjha


wabi- sabi
(n). the discovery of beuty in imperfection; the acceptance of the cycle of growth and decay

Name: Anam Ranjha
Instagram: anam_ranjhaa
Email: anamranjah07@gmail.com


Flowers by Jannat Mehmood

Name : Jannat Mehmood
Instagram: justanotherbrowngirl_
Email : jannetmehmoodkausar@gmail.com


Painting by Maham Raza

NameL Maham Raza
Instagram: razamaham
Email: razamaham233@gmail.com


Old City by Noor-e-Nimrah

Name: Noor-E-Nimrah
Instagram: Noor_e_nimrah
Email: Noorenimrah1999@gmail.com


A memory to reminisce forever by Rashda Basit

I will never forget those timid hellos
And the glances we exchanged while passing by each other
Our love was never explainable
It was rather silent
Which was much more than words and expressions
Which was much more than those hour-long conversations
Which was much more than the reason we drifted apart

Name: Rashda Basit
Instagram: @rb_archives
Email: rashdabasit609@gmail.com


Boxes by Ramsha Rizvi

Stop shoving me,
Trying to fit me,
Within your tiny box.
I will not fit,
I will never fit,
So leave me be.
Don’t mould me
To the standards
Of your mind.
These boxes of yours,
They limit you,
And your thoughts.
I will not make it easy,
For you to judge me.
Instead I will become box-less.
Think what you may,
But your thoughts
Don’t bother me,
Cause I know what I am

Name: Ramsha Rizvi
Instagram: the_girl_with_the_blue_room
Email: ramsharizvi@gmail.com


Trepidation by Khizra Akhtar

Will I be able to do better this time?
No breadwinner, no patriarchy,
between self satisfaction and recognition
The whole thing is related to existentialism
Something to live for, a responsibility
Running away from it, will turn you into a bug
I don’t wanna feel like an insect
Living among them

Name: Khizra Akhtar
Instagram: khizra2.0
Email: ahmadneo111@gmail.com


The Rapport – Issue #1



The Killing Vibration
by
Lady Pearl

Once a melodic resonance

Suddenly a shuddering utterance

I’ve never loved or hated my name

As much as I have today


Amputation
by
Anam Ranjha

How does it feel to be amputated emotionally? Does it leave an empty space within yourself, where you hold your old self like an infant in a cart. How does it feel to furnish your own amputation in your imagination? Surrounded by what you desire, do you feel a sense of amputation? What is left to you after that? Do you remember it? Is it simple what you remember? What to do with what you remember ? How would you decide which of scattered pieces to carry forward, what to protect , and what to leave behind? Who will help you out? You? Your surroundings? Or your imagination?


Beautiful Nonetheless
by
Ayesha Owais

In rhythmic movements I move around,
I want to be adored, I want to be loved
I want to be beautiful,
I want to feel comfortable in my own skin.

When I smile I pretend it’s not mine,
When I talk I pretend to sound like someone I’m not,
I just want me to be someone who’s at least loved by me?
Is that too much to ask for?

I dance around foolishly,
Seeking for validation,
I stare at myself in the mirror,
The mirror is shattered just like me,
Perhaps I like these broken pieces of me,
I dance around a bit more,
Those same rhythmic movements,
Everyday, I shower myself with glitter,
Perhaps it would make me more beautiful,
It does not.

I stare at myself in the mirror,
I smile,
I finally end the dance,
I keep staring at my reflection,
With a smile lingering on my lips,
Beautiful yet uncomfortable,
But beautiful nonetheless.


Passing Years
by
Samman Khan


A Poem
by
Fatima Naveed

The ability to survive is a trait that i thrive,
The inability of letting go is the hardest fight
The path towards you is full of crumbled leaves,
You either step on it with joy or avoid whats underneath

Those wide eyes and hollow ones, all see the same thing
Its how we perceive it, makes us differ from the rest
Your smile and your laughter is what defines you from the outside
But the screams and the cries is what I perceive on my own

The picture you present is half of what you are
The person you think you are , is half of what you are not


The Crow
by
Anum Akhtar

Perched upon my window sill
was a crow in all its dreary might.
A captivation so eerie,
quite visibly held my sight.
The faint frenzy in his eyes.
The silence in his stance.
The vigor in his flight,
when it flashed through the sky
and rested upon a distant tree.
Now although very far, but,
still in line of my sight.
It seemed to be judging,
almost mocking me
for my miserable plight.
But I took no offence
As I was accustomed to feel alright.
No one really cared, if this heart
burnt or swelled or ached at night.
Then what right this bird had to mock me
for my plight?
I stood there, patiently
to witness its surrender,
its leap into the vast skies
was all that I hankered.
Until it finally hit me
what the bird had truly implied.
A voice acutely profound
called out to me, my mind,
it longed for many a things
most ravenous for freedom and escape.
Now, I seemed to get why, the crow
had for so long held my sight.
It was not mockery after all
but grief and courage.
A hope in myself
it successfully ignite.
Then, as if fulfilled its purpose
the bird sailed south, in all its glory
left me behind, triumph over misery.
With a desire so wild, prudent but folly.
To be a bird
for the remainder of my life.
To be a crow with all its dreary might.


Wounded

I decided to go on an excursion
through the jungle that is my brain,
and i emerged mortally wounded
from the imprudent pain.


Heart removal

A distant known stranger, voice to remember.
Spoken with a sweet hello,
she told me a story,
waiting in line, order ready.
I told her she reminded me of a song that wasn’t pretty.
When she asked why,
I told her, I always knew
You’d be the one sitting delectable.
After years have passed, without a word.
Years have passed, Unseen, without a nuance.
Now, to see her in line – wishing for deaf ears, a silent hello.


The Rebirth of the Soul

Your inner voice confounded
in the ricochet off the asphalt.
Draped in steel
and reinforced concrete,
we eroded the synchronicity:
of bone with earth,
flesh with the oceans,
sinew with fire,
and equanimity with air.
The only recourse left, to
dive head first into rude awakening.
Swim amongst sharks
mobilised by the scent of fear,
allowing their teeth to impale
years of conditioning,
culpable of removing you from yourself.
The blood of generations
oozing from your body,
releasing your heart
to pirouette on the precipice
of its fall from grace
wringing traditions outworn,
for your soul to be reborn.


Bearing Fruits

The bird is eating,
the green yard is flourishing.
How fast does Spring move?

The soil is waiting
to be replenished by April rain.
How fast does life move?

The tree is eternal,
even with its limbs sawed off.
How far does the apple fall?

Life begins,
then it bears fruit,
then it matures
and then
it dies.


Glass Rational

The biting cold didn’t snap,
At ankles after a warm round of drinks.
So when she was thrown to the snow,
Out through the front door, she hardly blinked.

It was late by now,
And the spotlight moon was high,
Or at least she would have seen,
If it wasn’t for the two men that loomed nigh.

It took her forever to recall what she’d done,
As she scrabbled to her feet,
And confronted the two men,
Who she knew she’d have to meet.

And whilst the cold was hardly felt,
Nor was the first punch,
That landed at her stomach, hard.
The advantages of being drunk.

So when she was left there,
And slept the night in the snow,
She woke with the sun gushing,
Down the streets, but she didn’t know.

What had she done to cause an altercation?
And who should she apologise to?
So to solve these issues, she stumbled,
Through the front door, for another pint of two.