Carol Ann Duffy was born in Glasgow, Scotland to Mary Black and Frank Duffy, On December 23, 1955.
The Poet Laureate of Britain
Carol Ann Duffy was born in Glasgow, Scotland to Mary Black and Frank Duffy, On December 23, 1955. Together with her four younger brothers, she was raised in Staffordshire in the West Midlands of England. She received a degree in philosophy from Liverpool University in 1977. She lives in Manchester and is the Creative Director of the Writing School at Manchester Metropolitan University. Duffy was appointed as Britain’s Poet Laureate on May 1, 2009, becoming the first woman poet to hold the position in its more than 300 year history. Duffy’s books of poetry include: New & Collected Poetry for Children; Rapture; Selected Poems; Feminine Gospels; and The World’s Wife.
Flaws and woes
By Asma Zainab
People make it all seem so easy.
To make, break and heal again.
Gracefully countering each one of life’s shoves,
Entering and leaving its various phases ever so smoothly.
Emerging victorious, unharmed and whole.
Here I am, stumbling my way through
And losing a part of myself with each climb.
On my knees, as I barely hold on to my past.
My future, blinking at the end of the tunnel.
Breath ragged, clothes torn.
Changed and weaker each time.
Paper cuts
By Hira Nazir
But often so usual
do you still find yourself?
Aching from those brutal paper cuts
put deep beneath the layers of skin
by all the words
which were left unsaid;
in the fear of getting the bridges burnt
not having enough courage on the blank sheets
to carry the burden of regrets
ending it all, eventually,
in a strange limbo,
because, your eyes are empty
and your soul, hollow
an unknown search lingers
in every breath you take,
looking for the one lost,
and the one broken; on a lonesome autumn evening
turning pages of the old memoir,
the paper cuts hurt afresh;
misery loves company.
Enigma of four elements
By Sumayyah Malik
The 4a.m. ice-candy water;
Cried with a steamy laughter in my heart
Cried for existence or non-existence?
Grunted with a snorty sob in my chest
Grunted for presence or absence?
The 4a.m. blackened fire;
Rushing into that cobwebbed, deserted spine
Rushing for life or death?
Metabolizing that spider - wicked, mental asylum,
Metabolizing soul or body?
The 4a.m. fog air;
Shoots my blood to glide into a field of thorns
Shooting for passion or reason?
Pushes my nerves to swim into that pool of fossils
Pushing sensations or thoughts?
The 4a.m. smell of earth;
Trembling into pores of my fingers
Trembling for love or hatred?
Travelling into dendrites of my neurons
Travelling for sanity or madness?
Barren soul
By Anum Afzaal
The heart dies a slow death,
shedding each hope like leaves.
Until one day
there are no hopes,
nothing remains behind.
The rest is a shadow,
the rest is a secret;
dark and untold.
Burnt dreams
By Neelum Afridi
They burnt my dreams to kill me.
I blew the ashes so it may lit again,
To give light to the lost ones...
