Dark and light, we’re eye to eye, a blinding fortress. The winds blow – Listen to trees whispering? Stilts are tipping over. Earthquake shakes, muscle and bones. Inside out, where blood and skin meet—string me, marionette me. I’m holding steady in wrinkled skin, old and peeling. Control me.
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.
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?
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.
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.
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.
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.