By S. K
Fri, 05, 18

When my grave is broke up again....

Poems forever

When my grave is broke up again

Some second ghost to entertain,

(For graves have learned that woman-head

To be more than one a bed)

And he that digs it, spies

A bracelet of bright hair about the bone

Will not he let us alone,

And think that there a loving couple lies,

Who thought that this device might be some way,

To make their souls, at the last busy day,

Meet at this grave, and make a little stay?

Excerpted from The Relic by John Donne

Baked Alaska

By Rabiah Riaz




cold, split


very stiff.

a metal

meringue with

ice cream


By Amna Ameer

Time escapes us,

It runs through,

Our fingers,

Just when we try,

To grasp it harder,

It takes away,

Too much,

And gives back,

So little,

Time consumes,

Our thoughts,

Postpones conversations,

Creates ripples,

Through space,

Breaks us apart,

But if we look closely,

And breathe,

It stands still,

Stops almost,

For us,

To marvel,

The hue,

Of morning sun,

Crimson of the evenings,

The vastness

Of the sky,

The beauty of,

Fallen leaves,

The promise,

Of another day,


That make us,


Hidden devils

By Mahvash Irshad

And some are

walking devils,

beautifully dressed

as humans.


By Asma Zainab

If you knew the bad parts, my dark side

Would you still envy my life?

If you felt the pain I endure everyday

Would you still want to take it away?

If you could see the world from my eyes

Would you still long for the sight?

If you could hear the sound of my agonizing cries

Would you still try to make me smile?

Curiosity, it may be hard to let go

The suspense just might get the best of you

And my world may seem irresistible

But trust me, you do not want to know

So be careful what you wish for.


By Mashaal Farid

Thrown into the waste bin

These crumpled pages let out a cry of pain.

That soaked droplet of ink on the nib,

Mourn those silent screams.

Blankly searching the lost words,

That wretched heart is pacing too slow.

I couldn’t write anymore...

Says the girl whose pen is broken.


By Muhammad Sohaib Arshid

Make me a believer,

Of this “saint” like world,

Because I’m drifting away,

In the opposite hurl

How can you expect a garden,

To be so full of joy,

When you pluck each flower,

And make it your toy

Like is my land, filled with hate,

And hymns filled with screams,

Of children raped and killed,

By men with filthy dreams

No more are our streets lively,

With laughs and hopscotch,

But, are full of animals,

And their killer watch

Make me a believer,

Of this “pious” world,

Because I’m drifting away,

In the opposite hurl

Compiled by SK

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