* Ezra Pound breathed through his nose until it was time to write – then he would breathe exclusively through his mouth....
* William Wordsworth read his poems to his dog. If his dog got agitated or barked, Wordsworth would go back and tweak the poem.
* Emily Dickinson was a hermit who would often only speak to guests through a locked door.
* Lord Byron kept a live bear in his dorm room as a pet … and tried to get it a fellowship.
* German poet Friedrich Schiller could not work without the stench of rotten apples sitting on his desk.
* Edgar Allen Poe refused to write on paper and instead wrote on scrolls.
* Ezra Pound breathed through his nose until it was time to write – then he would breathe exclusively through his mouth.
By Amna Ameer
It is uncertain
That the future
Will ever be certain
But it will certainly be one day
Exactly how we’ve wanted
That’s the beauty and the fear
To know what it is that we want
And how we may welcome it
With a heart full of anticipation
And reverence
For my heart will never be satiated
May it one day be full
Of life and love
And of the little things that matter
And make life big
So, one day, we may look back and say
We’ve lived a big life
By Sa’ad Nazeer
I have been searching
For the meaning of this
Last night I had been out
On the wet, gray streets
Measuring out my life
The cars honked in the distance
I ordered a cup of tea and sat
In the open
I searched for the meaning at the end
Of that cup,
Then ordered another
There were some like me
Also searching
I smoked and smoked
Until the tea tasted bad
Waiting for the epiphany,
Nothing. Just nothing.
Then I thought maybe I should go
Back to the woman who
Broke my heart once
Long time ago. Maybe she knows
By Abid Agha
Once again, the gloomy evenings of December
Arrive quietly, treading softly, barefoot
Lost somewhere in the depths of solitude,
They amplify the pain of being alone.
Misty days with a cool, gentle sun
Leaves of autumn adorning trees with vibrant hues
I close my eyes, immersing into memories of the past,
And find you in every December that has passed.
Some tears linger on dry, fallen leaves,
While others trace a path upon the ground.
When snow blankets the towering trees,
My eyes fill with vivid images of you,
Oh, December, you arrive without fail each year,
Let’s embark on a new ritual, my dear.
Think of her first, and then let us proceed
Carving her name onto a tree’s sturdy bark, indeed.
Decorate it with autumn’s vibrant palette,
And gaze upon the desolate pathways unwavering.
In this tranquil solitude, our love shall dwell
Amongst crisp leaves that whisper tales to tell.
Compiled by SK
