The walls bleed out and the streets scream,
Please tell us; it’s a horrible dream,
Grabbing at our feet are hands,
Which were lost in the time and sands,
Category: Darkness
Darkness
Maybe darkness too is afraid,
Of the light and the things it made.
Maybe darkness too is alone,
Observing people with hearts of stone.
Maybe darkness wishes for life,
Seeing people in all forms of strife.
Maybe darkness wishes to see the day,
When all the children come out and play.
Maybe darkness in people around,
Is because they want to hear the sound.
The sound of understanding and doing what’s right,
The sound of knowing that someone will fight.
Fight for you when you are right,
Hold you tight when you are in flight.
Someone who stands by in good and bad,
Someone who understands you happy and sad.
It’s all that matters; I guess it’s right,
Even darkness puts up a fight.
I wonder why
The darkness which enveloped me, Was haunting to a certain degree. As the candle in my hand reduced to a stub, And the walls, my shoulder rub. All their words come back to me, Burn me, cut me, bring me to my knee. I hide my pain from the world, The sky around me swirled. […]
The Labyrinthian Mind
Trying to escape the labyrinth that is her mind,
A way out she tries to find.
Through the thorns with roses on top,
All those things which make her stop.
To get away is all she wants,
Yet the memory still haunts.
It follows her like a shadow,
Yet she hides high and low.
As much as she wants to get away,
She still tries to stand and stay.
Stopping again, looking back,
Of the way she lost track.
And when the rays of the sun,
Hit her; she couldn’t hide, couldn’t run.
Today still there she stands,
Looking back at the sands.
The sands of time have come to pass,
That young, beautiful, sprightly lass.
A statue of her is all that remains,
Looking back at the terrains.
From where she tried so hard to escape,
From the world her miseries draped.
Monsters
Sleeping with the night light on,
To keep monsters at bay,
But what about the one’s inside,
On your souls which prey?
The Past
The closet full of skeletons is the worst place to hide,
And by all rules you must abide.
The past is a graveyard of memories which were,
And no one’s wrath it would incur.
*Nov 17
Story of the Rain
The dark sky full of clouds,
I wonder what mysteries it shrouds.
Tales of valor and courage I bet,
Some not even known yet.
The stories of the rain drops,
Seem to tell of strong props.
Decayed over time,
Lured by crime.
Of people of strength,
By force, tried to be bent.
Yet they were brave,
Though the result was grave.
The people who died,
The families which cried.
Fresh leaves broken off a tree,
Only because they wished to be free.
Achieved was their dream,
With all the shine, all the gleam.
To us, handed over it was,
But honestly, what are we doing for this cause?
The day has just begun,
Let us bask in the sun.
The bright leaves grow every day,
I just wish they find the right way.
Fatima Azhar 