POETS’ CORNER

BrokenBy Ayesha MalikThe small cracksLet in the lightYet the openingsAre lined with siltThey singe lightlyThe ridges of stoneThe fumes are hotThe cracks burst openThe pieces lay scatteredEach shines in its ownAn emancipating sightThe beauty of the vesselIs laid across the streetThe fragments trodden uponIn every meet and greet.MeditationBy SabaWhirling my bodyIn spirals of nothingnessI have become a dervish…Deep in my thoughtsI dance in tranceFrantic and feverish…Floating in divinityCompletely contentI woke up from my reverie…And now I feel freeTo sing, to danceAnd to live all my breaths…The self-created stress of painLeft my shouldersAnd finally I learntHow to love myself…Can I matterBy Asma ZainabCan I matter just this onceand not be overshadowedby the doubts you hold so dearCan I believe in a futurewhere you looking at the skyisn’t something I’d envyThe day you listen to my storiesand not the woes of the lonesome moonThe day you hold flowers in your handand not between the pages of your journalWill there be a day our roads meet and intersectjust like the crossword puzzles you love to solveWill you ever remember to forgetor will you still prefer to hold the handsthat leads to new landsKiteBy Ali Asghar Ghani How are you feeling? I askedbeing dragged aroundin the dark and stormy windslike a kitewhose string is in the hands of black thoughtsSlow and steadyBy Mehma KunwarI have always been a slow personslow in eating, slow in readingslow in walking, slow in reactingand I could always justify thisI tend to count the number of times I chew as well as the blessings in my mouthI tend to challenge each word I readand think what’d happen if it was the other wayI tend to observe the world while walkingas well as the wonders left ignoredI tend to give people chances with their stancesand believe in love, no matter how broken it isBut I’m also slow in calming my heartwhich is faster than light, dumb as a rock. my brain reads and gets rejection, my love, butit takes time to make the heart understand that slow and steady, don’t always win the race.I’ll waitBy Laraib ZakirMaybe holding onto is tiring,Excruciatingly draining of what is left.It’s a little melancholy that goes a long way,Something that withers you away.Although wilted, you still want it to stay.Kindly send your contibutions at: uspoetscorner@gmail.com

from The News International - US http://bit.ly/2Vx423H