By S. K
Fri, 03, 19

The commentator’s rabbiting on and on about how it’s so easy for Roger, resentment thick as butter still in a box....

Poems forever

Decorating a cake while  listening to tennis

The commentator’s rabbiting on and on

about how it’s so easy for Roger, resentment

thick as butter still in a box. Yet word

from those who’ve done their homework

is how the man loves to train-how much

he relishes putting in the hours

just as magicians shuffle card after card,

countless to mere humans

but carefully all accounted for.

At hearing “luck” again, I stop

until my hands relax their clutch

on the cone from which a dozen more

peonies are to materialize. I make it look easy

to grow a garden on top of a sheet

of fondant, and that’s how it should appear:

as natural and as meant-to-be

as the spin of a ball from the sweetest spot

of a racquet whisked through the air like a wand.

- Peg Duthie


By Amna Ameer

The autumn leaves,

Flickering in the sun,

The light softly,

Running over the stories,

Told by the falling trees,

Dried over the ground,

Silent sighs,

Hush over the memories,

Of how it was,

The last time,

As clear as this morning,

The pain once,

Stood oblivious,

Naked to any comfort,

It could not be hidden,

And so it became,

All the more evident,

Every passing evening,

Dying with the sunset,

The wails smelt of smoke,

And the silence lingered,

All night,

Till again the sun rose,

And the clouds gilded,

Over the sky watching over,

Falling crimson leaves,

Making time stand still,

The world moving slower,

The pain quieter,

And love more forgiving,

The sheer purity,

Of solitude,

Kept in itself,

The promise of recovery,

With every ending,

I held on to the beginning,

For what is worth,

Love is love is love.


By Hafsa Sardar

People tend to wear masks,

Some wear it for deceit,

Some wear it for self protection,

Some wear it to conceal the truth,

Some wear it to hide what the truly are,

Masks are not all worn for illusions.

A hundred winters in our hearts

By Sa’ad Nazeer

Have you ever felt friendless?

I have, it feels like a Romantic

Breaking out of Puritan prison

The freedom gained from this oppression

Goes uncelebrated

Into your countenance it creeps

Ceases the vagrant eye to wander

Smiles steal away

The Frank-Slade air appears on your face

Then feels as if we’re oppressed

By the same freedom we fought for

Frivolous eves and frivolous morns

Pass without any stirs or storms

So does one delirium

Only to come back

At the blink of a moment

The moment that makes you unassailable

The moment that tempts you to go aloof

But the moment lasts not longer

Than a single-night-blooming cereus

The need yet again oars us back

Into the uninviting bosoms-

Of our sweets and amigos.

Disrelish is a heartache;

Love is a heartache

Ah! The contrast between the two.

Compiled by SK

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