Hope is the thing with feathers That perches in the soul, And sings the tune without the words, And never stops at all,
Hope is the thing with feathers
By Emily Dickinson (1830 – 1886)
Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all,
And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.
I’ve heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.
A speck in the soil
By Suhd Nazeer
Where lotus fields stretch across
miles and miles,
amidst the clusters of aspen
endlessly smiles
the sage - stargazing,
spotted Sandpipers muse
about riverbanks,
where lust and greed is food
for flies,
daunting death and misery
denied to
failing men and maidens,
Where nothing’s foul
nothing’s fair
to lovers mad in despair,
I live out there.
An incomplete painting
By Zunaira Afzal
The paints in the palette
The colours on the canvas
The brushes in the holder
The painting at the easel
The smudges on my apron
The colour dipped fingertips
The paint tubes
The old landscape
The twirling trees
with no chirping bird
The violet blue sky
With no sun
And you...
Leaning back on the chair
Facing the calm sea in silence
Seem a part of that painting
That remains incomplete
forever!
Crumbs
By Aiman Tahir
I let your thoughts
Consume my mind.
Devouring me,
Cell by cell,
Inch by inch.
And as they nibble on me,
I am reduced to
A million crumbs-
Falling
Into the abyss
Of the unknown.
That day
By Ammar Butt
It was three years ago.
The day I stood outside your door,
With lilies in one hand and chocolates in the other.
My heart hammering my chest and I spoke as I stutter.
Three years later,
I can still taste your breath.
It has turned bitter, almost dead.
Just like the lilies I brought,
As I was in pursuit of Grace,
You threw them at my face.
But I still love you,
I still miss the scent of your skin.
I still miss the way you touched me,
I just wish you’d let me in.
Worlds apart
By Sidra Arshad
I just hope that
Our worlds never
Cross paths,
My friend,
For you live
Wrapped in silver,
Moonlit,starry
Awkwardly silent
Country nights
And I wander
Cloaked in scarlet,
Blood-soaked,blotchy,
Strangely stained
Urban lights!
Faith
By Mahgul Mumtaz
My faith has been tormented
by ordeals and hardships,
Shattered into pieces and lost in the labyrinth.
Some melted in the sprays of the erupted volcano.
Never could I see them, never to be retrieved again
The tiny fragments of my lost belief.
I feel for the ones, who still follow the beacons,
still hope for the days to brighten anyway.
