Hindsight
By Wajiha Hyder
Let me tell you what’s befallen us
How happier days have abandoned us
Not being free
Having a voice and being voiceless
Being dumb, mute, speechless
Looking and turning away
Not saying what needs to be said.
Is perhaps the only way to be
Today…
Or was it always like this?
Maybe, it was just not this loud
Maybe, it barely made a sound
All that is left for us
Is to wait and see
All that we are going to be
Or maybe, we will never be
So, just like that
Persistent as a nightmare
The year found its way into
Our heads
The absurdity of our lives
The shallowness of our dreams
The silence of our speech
A silence that grew louder
and became
Loud enough to be a noise
Shunning the wonted truth
Faith, wisdom, belief..
Maybe all that is left for us
Is to wait and see
All that our world can be..
But is it ever going to be?
Aren’t we always waiting
For wars to be fought
Songs of glory to be sung
Accolades to be won
But…
Who will wait for the day
When peace will rule our borders
And tranquility
Will reign supreme
Times will be simpler
Lives will be saner..
Simpler times ahead?
Says who?
Not many-
Those who spoke of it
With any conviction
Vanished long ago
Or maybe
They were just a figment
Of exhausted imaginations
So now…
We’re left without hope
Without dreams
Without peace
Maybe,
We can just wait and see
Whatever it is going to be
But will it ever be?
2019 was delirious
It witnessed some decisions
Like all years do
Some good
Others frightful
Some downright obnoxious
Some tearing the day into shreds
Some, attempting to put it back together again
Some in intricate patterns
Some utterly disastrous
We had our moments of glory
Some real…
Some no more than a facade
But isn’t all glory just a facade?
A touch unreal, a bit warped
We all readily bend the knee
Some do it knowingly
Some unknowingly so
Maybe,
You should just wait and see
All that they will let you be
Or maybe…
It will never be
The year was chaotic
Like all years are bound to be
There were some bad days
Some momentous ones too
We saw some kings fall
and others rise
Like all worldly kings...
Inherently do
There was desperate hope
But concessions as well
A silent resignation to fate
The end was but bittersweet
The year that began
With the absolution of a prisoner of time
Ended with the conviction..
Of another
A decade ends
The days descend into nights
Moments of darkness..
Turn darker
In the gloomy winter nights
The last moments of the year
I think of the decade gone by
Of all the dark hours
That we’ve survived
I think of the struggles ahead
Of the years that are to follow
Of the hours that will remain
And times that might never change
Maybe…
All that is left for us
Is to wait and see
All that is going to be
And all that will never be
2019 the year , that was
Let’s talk
By Syeda Mehr Mustafa
Days
Are ruled
By lynching mobs,
Greedy gropers, lawful looters
Outnumbered only by mindless polluters
All
The leaders
From my childhood,
Convicted, imprisoned or assassinated
Broken reputations, so well documented
Do carrots bother you, or the cart going nowhere?
Laughter echoes loudest in the depths of despair.
Enough
They say
Time is up,
Yet time is callous-
Like the men who touch.
Power
Demands silence
From complicit bystanders,
Hierarchy maintainers, exploitation sustainers
It seems as though, you’ve forgotten the facts?
More feet are bare, than booted in black.
Stars
Are born
In the night,
Every great movement requires
Anger with which love conspires
High
Rises smoke
From joint ventures,
Of hopeless romantics, fighting –
The status quo, barely cracking
What if the last thing you were to see,
Is how flimsy a guise could be?
Fall back
By Ather Naqvi
What will the little boys and girls do
There are so many of them
Going on with their lives
Innocently beaming
Playing now with their big red ball,
The world they have always painted in green and blue
Like lots of flowers…
Abruptly
In black and white
Will there be another world?
Like the spare ball?
No
By R Umaima Ahmed
Are you there?
Do you know?
Tiny hands
Innocent smiles
Playing about free of care
Gardens of heaven
With fruits of love
Sleep and play was all they did.
Till evil spirits crept in the realm
No more a haven it remained
Turning light to dark
Like nights in hell.
Are you there?
Do you know?
These wicked souls
Preyed on innocence
Hiding behind offers of chocolate
‘No’ was never taught
It had no part in the games played.
Bliss snatched
Tiny hands, clenched in pain
Crying bitterly, trying to breathe
Scared and lost
Calling for help
Till death overcame pain
Thrown upon a heap of garbage
Waiting to be found.
Are you there?
Do you know?
Parents running from pillar to post
Time stands still
Yet runs out
Their calls for help
Heard by none
Till a clamor rings out
“A child’s body has been found”
No hell breaks loose
No authorities are over shaken
Silently picking up their flower
They walk away
The media hosts
Photo-ops, and tall promises
Then back to business
Waiting for the next story.
Are you there?
Do you know?
Zainab’s case was not the last?
The menace did not end
The hanging did not dent
The rampant evil
People one can trust with kids
Are the crying need of the hour
Until then
Only a ‘No’ can save a life.
Belonging
By Enum Naseer
Home is where
the key turns every time
And the doors, they let you in
Until the day the key stops turning
suddenly,
without warning,
the doors stand guard
Then home is alive and snarling,
teeth filed to a point
only those can enter, who submit
hold their heads down, fold arms in prayer
close their eyes
forget that
the shortest distance between two
points is a child growing up
a child with a perfect question
‘Who do you call when the cops start shooting?’
A sack of potatoes exploding
ripping through a busy market a climbing death toll
The shortest distance between two points is doing your job costing you
your job
A cartoon that scares, an ego
that bruises
a quake that’s a punchline
A shorter distance between two points is a bloody line crossed
a people turned prisoner
two siblings
convinced they
are fighting
over a cashmere sweater
Between these two points
the air is thick
the air kills you someone tells you
that if traffic stopped
moving it’d be better –
if you held still;
held your breath
closed your eyes
had witnesses and names
waited for it to pass
Questions become scalpels
Vultures gather around marchers
A woman’s voice,
louder than everyone else’s,
is hoarse from singing in times like these
A mob rises
rampaging a cardiac hospital
the mob – flesh and sinew
finds no one to tend to its wounds
finds a cardiac hospital empty and
the air thick with teargas
The longest distance between two points
Is a woman’s journey to a foreign land
in the dark of the night
The shorter distance
between you and me
is the straight line
that runs between you and I
Things change in January –
no, February
December is clumsy,
Just like you,
The year has to wrap up too.
This year
I wrote a poem for the first time
journalists aren’t poets
This is not a poem
2019 was coming home,
being told, they changed the locks
only to find out the key was never meant to turn
A home promises protection at a cost,
A home promises protection –
from the snarling houses
of other people
But a dream doesn’t travel clutching
a little green book
nor stands in queue
at border control
A dream is the cypresses your grandfather planted still standing tall
your grandmother’s laughter filling up a room
You at eight, nine, ten
a child with child’s abandon,
a rainy afternoon,
The synchronised writhing
of earthworms in the courtyard
A dream is you
with a few grey strands
now stealing oranges
from an orchard
where no one knows your name
and your friends waiting in the car
A dream is you realising that
the shortest distance
between two points
is a mouth, curling into a smile
2019 was coming home
finding that they changed the locks
wondering if the door
should have been left ajar
listen, the door isn’t a door
unless it opens
for the many, not the few
Home is where
the key turns every time
and the doors, they let you in
And the people, they come,
weary and spent
to be taken in without
question or comment
after a long wandering,
after a day’s work
even if home grows teeth – bites
2019 was writing a poem
abandoning it,
until joy arrives.