But the glittering colours lies in thoughts’ heap. For vision is to see beneath the skin.....
By Syeda Ayesha Masroor
Artists buy colours
From the moon, stars, seas and flowers;
From eves and morns;
From nights, noons and twilights;
From their lovers’ eyes, their favourite smiles;
From babies’ laughter, bird songs and rain
From summers, autumns, winters and springs;
From dreams, sorrows and fears;
From dewy buds, trees and souvenirs ;
And create priceless, timeless, works of art.
By Haiqa Shah
Ask me about colours
Though I was blind a while ago.
Those beautiful serene blue eyes,
The pure red lip colour,
The freckles on her cheeks,
Her eye liner on sleek,
And the bronzer just on the point.
Alas! You too are blind, like me.
For you, art isn’t skin deep.
But the glittering colours lies in thoughts’ heap.
For vision is to see beneath the skin.
Since sight is to look into the heart and feel.
So, If you ever want to,
Come to me
I will teach you how to be an artist
And introduce you to the real colours.
By Anam Afzaal
Words in the winds have lost charm.
Blood running through veins turned blue.
Something has stung.
Now, venom making emotionally numb.
Sweet words, soft touch and a human heart,
Long gone.
Thanks to double face friends - thank you.
A cold smile.
By Laraib Zakir
Yes, it’s spring
and it’s going to
stay longer.
But, no,
there’s nothing in it for me,
mostly.
The eyes,
they still search
for the sky
draped in silver-grey.
The feet,
they still want
to walk on the
curled-up leaves,
to hear them crunch underneath
maybe one last time.
The wind,
with its little ache of tingling cold,
I somehow want it back.
I have a heart
That clings on to fall.
Fall forever.
By Joan Graham
Divide
the year
into seasons,
four,
subtract
the snow then
add
some more
green,
a bud,
a breeze,
a whispering
behind
the trees,
and here
beneath the
rain-scrubbed
sky
orange poppies
multiply.
