Country : Canada
I am a 23 year old Pakistani-Canadian university student doing my Bachelors of Sciences in Canada. Writing and Poetry is my utmost passion and everything I write comes from the deepest parts of my soul. My words make me the person that I am – and my dream is to have my words touch the souls of others in such a way, that it changes their life.
Отрывок из поэзии “A Thematic Collection of Poetry on Grief and Healing “
Sometimes anxiety creeps up on me
like an older lover –
like the lover you spent months on end
rubbing off your skin.
It comes to me with open arms
and makes love to me like an old lover.
It’s manipulative and the epitome
of nauseous narcissism,
and it hugs me like it wants me back
and it tells me it’s my only friend
and my God damn bloody safe haven
Sometimes anxiety creeps up on me
like an old lover,
the lover I left soaking in the depths
of my prayers.
The lover that intertwined with
my every weakened nerve.
The lover I screamed out of my system
until I was hollow and empty
and full of sickening nothing.
But it comes back to me –
whispering to my scarred skin
that it bloody loves me
because nothing else will.
Who I Am
I can fit the universe in my pocket,
other times I am strangled
by the largeness of it all.
Sometimes I feel like
I have come a long way
that even when I look far behind me
I see nothing.
I feel as if
the abandoned stories are empty.
Other times I can feel these stories
walking right beside me,
weighing every damn part of me –
as if these stories consist of a hundred heavy worlds.
When I fall apart,
I sometimes feel like a soft sunset
setting down among flower beds.
Other times I feel like a clashing storm
falling down a whirlwind of blackened dark.
This is who I am,
and my identity is not vocal;
and neither is anyone invisible
enough to see me.
There is so much pain that they cause.
Rivers of tears flow from these eyes,
opened their mouths and pulled out saws,
cut me up into different lies.
My character scattered in pieces of made up flaws,
yet still, they’re the ones getting the applause.
They fear me and think I hold the key to their demise;
why can’t they see that it’s them who –
dehumanize. Patronize. Scrutinize. Traumatize.
Then expect me to apologize.
Why can’t they emphasize.
Realize. I’m a human that they demonized.
Themselves they victimized.
Now, I’m not here to dramatize,
but they think it’s okay to put me on pause.
There’s not a single line they haven’t crossed.
I was greeted by being brutalized
while their own happiness they devised.
They boasted about after leaving me to agonize.
They shouldn’t fear me but rather my sighs,
because it is God who has heard my cries.
He holds the key far beyond what they actualize.
A Walk Away from the Past
A pretty girl.
Wisp of a girl.
Thin, like a 3-word sentence.
And she’s messy,
all the way down
to her untied sneakers.
She scans the horizon
and says that it is longing and bleeding
for the dreams in her eyes.
She walks towards the horizon,
away from the deadly black sea.
And she sighs a sigh of hope tinted
With scars of blackened grief.
She turns around and watches the waves
crash within the deadly black sea.
I ask her why she is walking away –
because she doesn’t know how to walk away.
She tells me that there are so many
peaceful roads on Earth among the horizon
and “I am just trying to find one of them”
The Sunshine Found Me
Colours dancing in the sky,
golden hues blended with orange.
White angels decorating a mauve canopy
across the magnificent vista.
Birds fly with their beloved.
The sun peeling itself off its canvas,
hugging my soul as if I was a long-lost friend,
one that spent too much time with the moon.
A breeze kisses my face.
Leaves clap in awe.
I wish to tell this sun
I am not done romanticizing with the moon.
But I can feel that this daylight
is beginning to paint itself upon me,
its warmth making love to my skin.
Oh moon, you’re still my beloved,
but it’s about time I welcome
this daylight into me.