The Rapport – 20th August 2020 – Issue #2

Whats Inside:

Featured Collection: The Dismal Blossom by Spogmai Maken

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

Featured Collection

The Dismal Blossom
Spogmai Maken

Tangle by Anjuna Ushani

Name: Anjuna Ushani
Instagram: aestheticam_x

Potrait by Fariha Nasir

Name: Fariha Nasir
Instagram: fariha1574

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

Flowers by Jannat Mehmood

Name : Jannat Mehmood
Instagram: justanotherbrowngirl_
Email :

Painting by Maham Raza

NameL Maham Raza
Instagram: razamaham

Old City by Noor-e-Nimrah

Name: Noor-E-Nimrah
Instagram: Noor_e_nimrah

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

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

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

The Rapport – 8th August 2020 – Issue #1

Featured Collection

Dylan Lewis

The Killing Vibration
Lady Pearl

Once a melodic resonance

Suddenly a shuddering utterance

I’ve never loved or hated my name

As much as I have today

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
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
Samman Khan

A Poem
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
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.


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.

Everything at once

You kissed me
Like the sun
Messed with my hair
Like the wind
Came over me
Like a wave.
Full of life
Like the earth
Was your love
It was everything
At once
And I was done for life


I have sutured a carousel of hearts
to beat among crowded breaths in my chest
What started out as love
now a map leading me away from myself
To a reflection in running water
that can never be held