You!…Yes you….
Trying to creep and trying to crawl,
within the folds of my pathetic being
Trying to wear and trying to open,
my torn skin and my eyes unseeing
Category Archives: Poetry English
The Overrated ‘MINE’!
The memory of pain
Pain does not end when the wounds heal. Instead, it survives as memory, breathing through regret.
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The memory of pain perhaps causes more pain,
when all was exposed, an artery and a vein
The exposed nerves kissed the cruel air;
while the dark, flowing blood, left a stain
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The memory of pain is walking the road of regret;
each step burdensome — breath, blood and sweat
Kicking small clouds, dust of old guilt,
the downward journey is certain and all set
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The memory of pain is smelling the stink of loss;
the rainclouds have long gone, as speaks the moss
The body breathes on, drawing in the poison;
soul becomes the victim and is hanged on the cross
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The memory of pain is an assault on the senses,
the heart is filled with misery, thinking of pretences
All exposures and encounters, victory of the ego;
the eyes fill with tears, surrendering all defences
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The memory of pain is what keeps some alive;
breathing and moving, trying to survive
With each dawn, there is hope, salvation or damnation;
the wait is balanced delicately on the edge of a knife
Confession of a Rotten Soul (Previously, So dark is my soul)
Not redemption. Not forgiveness. Only brutal self-awareness.
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So dark is my soul — it is so damn dark,
that angels borrow ink to write down my sins
Light shies away, avoiding all corruption,
while virtue stays silent, very rarely it wins
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So dark is my soul — it is so damn dark,
that I can hear my guilt, singing cold lullabies
Pushing me off precipices to a frozen end,
my regret laughs with coldness in its eyes
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So dark is my soul — it is so damn dark,
that I can hear my sins whispering their madness
Smothering my conscience to a suffocating end,
my remorse weeps bitterly in utter sadness
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So dark is my soul — it is so damn dark,
that I can hear my own fears, and their banshee screams
Choking my resolve to a pitifully miserable end,
the nightmares rule the night instead of the dreams
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So dark is my soul — it is so damn dark;
my goodness was a tactic to avoid eternal damnation
The cruel demons of judgment smiled with glee,
seeing my kindness as a path to eternal salvation
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So dark is my soul — it is so damn dark;
love was just a great delusion of pure grandeur
Humility was a disguise to hide the cold arrogance,
and compassion — a weakness, and selfish pleasure
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So dark is my soul — it is so damn dark;
I worry what will become of it in the end
Its darkness cannot be remedied,
and its rotten nature, no one can mend
God, the Grand Cupid
God looked down at two shattered souls drowning in separate sorrows and decided to play Cupid - because sometimes the cure for one broken heart is another.
A dual-narrative poem that follows two devastated individuals - a woman carrying a vault of sorrow and a man wandering the dark path of regret - until divine intervention brings them together in a transformative moment.
There she is, looking so young yet so old,
with a spirit, which was once so reckless and bold
There is still beauty, but only a shadow remains,
her strength survives, too, but is bound by chains
Trace within her soul, the dried pathways of salt,
she has been saving so many sorrows in her vault
Map each contour, map each line on her cheeks,
go ahead and ask her, what is it that she really seeks?
Perhaps, she hopes for bliss and a better future?
as her present is pus leaking from an open suture
Perhaps, she hopes for happy days to come,
as her past belongs to regret, all dark and glum
Look deep into her eyes, rivers of pain, black and grey,
they are silent, the foam of desire, subdued each day
They keep flowing over their bitter beds of loss,
marked by boulders of guilt, covered in rotten moss
There he is, tired and walking a lonesome path,
the rage has left his spirit, and absent is his wrath
He walks behind regret, while pain closely follows,
he is a lost soul, wandering in the grey hollows
The harsh, cold wind mourns the dead pigeons,
there is no salvation, no gods, and no religions
He is oblivious to all and is ignored by all,
his legacy is a broken ego; respect is his last call
He is a volcano gone dead, to all who care to see,
his soul is a vast desert, devoid of blessing, yet free
There is no fire, only ice in his marble heart,
while he eternally waits for the rains to start
Shattered into a million shards, dreams he once had,
he has lost forever, his character, his good, and his bad
To him, happiness and joy are all illusions and smoke,
to him, ecstasy and calm are nothing more than a joke
Time and patience play the sweet harp of change,
God looks down at the two souls, lost and so strange,
He feels the void in their souls, sees their dreams all furled,
with a kind and worried frown and his fingers all curled
‘Let there be light in their miserable and dark life,
let the angels play their magic, their merry fife
I won’t let their dreams die, be extinguished like this,
let their suffering finally end, let them get some bliss’
Boom! There is a great thunder up in the lofty skies,
across a chaotic throng they stand, amidst shouts and cries
There is a sudden flash of light, and they see where they stand,
they run towards each other, and he grabs her waiting hand
His loss kisses her loss and tastes empathy so deep,
they make a golden promise, forever to nurture and keep
Her grief caresses his grief and turns to sheer pleasure,
to love and to cherish, becomes their eternal treasure
Shehryar khawar 