By Taskeen ahmed
The fire running in my veins,
Root cause of my desolation.
Quaking, shuddering and bewildering
Hopelessness, sadness and loneliness.
A skin providing coverage to these veins.
I am not finding ways,
To kick it out for relief.
The unaware atmosphere from this extensive heat.
Finding my soul as a culprit.
How cruel it is?
No, no it isn’t such.
The variant temperature creates a line.
By Robert Louis Stevenson
When I was down beside the sea
A wooden spade they gave to me
To dig the sandy shore.
My holes were empty like a cup.
In every hole the sea came up
Till it could come no more.
By Faiza Nasir
From imagined fantasies,
To un-imagined truths
Words are romanticized
They hook us up in distant hopes
They hurt us
They heal us
They steal us from us
Then, in melancholic retrospect,
They laugh at us
And leave our hearts abandoned, awakened
By Mashaal Farid
Over floating on sheer puffs: those unfolded puzzles
I whispered to you quietly
What laid never still, also rough
Thy gentle scoops plucked a far pinned sob
While, Drop by drop, that
As vogue scrunched tough
By Roha Nasir Niazi
Every day, between the forced exchange of words,
And the feigning of sentiments,
I feel a certain kind of pain, fiery enough that
I long to break free from the chains of regularity,
Yet numb enough to deter me
From fully shattering apart.
Perhaps it is the realization of craving something meaningful,
Something to challenge the dimensions of my soul,
In the most purest and true form,
To have it ache in pure awe
Rather than lying here, masking the reality that we cannot fathom,
In the hopes that it will prevent us from
walking down the road of suffering.
I question, why am I obliged to keep it together,
Or as a matter of fact, why is anyone?
Why can’t we just simply be?
We are compelled to bind ourselves to the torture,
Disguising the hell rising in our minds.
Compiled by SK
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