But what if we listened to our own beating heart? Would we find our true purpose and never depart?
Poems forever
By Elizabeth Jennings
At this particular time I have no one
Particular person to grieve for, though there must
Be many, many unknown ones going to dust
Slowly, not remembered for what they have done
Or left undone. For these, then, I will grieve
Being impartial, unable to deceive.
How they lived, or died, is quite unknown,
And, by that fact gives my grief purity,
An important person quite apart from me
Or one obscure who drifted down alone.
Both or all I remember, have a place.
For these I never encountered face to face.
Sentiment will creep in. I cast it out
Wishing to give these classical repose,
No epitaph, no poppy, and no rose
From me, and certainly no wish to learn about
The way they lived or died. In earth or fire
They are gone. Simply because they were human, I admire.
By Amna Ameer
As a woman
You become an expert
A professional crier
They may say
You learn to cry
In the bedroom
At night
In the shower
Without a sound
You sometimes cry
In the open
When everyone else
Is unaware
You run away
Secluded
And are still present
You learn
To be at many places
At once
You remember a time
When they could tell
That your eyes were red
And they could trace
The tears on your face
But for now just pretend
It’s still a phase
This too shall pass
And you’ll master
This masquerade
By Maryam Munir
In the whisper of others,
We forget our own voice,
Chasing societal dreams,
We lose our heart’s choice,
But what if we listened to our own beating heart?
Would we find our true purpose and never depart?
Let’s break free from the chains,
That bind us so tight,
And shine with our own light,
In the dark of night.
Let’s choose our own path,
And walk with our own pride.
And find our own happiness,
Deep inside.
Where our true self resides,
And our heart finds its home.
And we finally live,
As we were meant to roam.
