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Mubashir
20/M/Pakistan My name is Mubashirؔ. / In the silence of solitude, I found friendship in words. / I don’t write in complex language — / I simply write what the heart feels, / especially in those moments / when everything is present, yet no one is there.
Poems1
Words56
I was etched like a trace in a dream’s tale untold, No echo stirred within silence’s hold. My solitude whispered secrets I’d never known, Not the mirror — madness had truths of its own. I carved every moment upon my skin, Yet time kept bleeding from deep within. I’m a spectacle, yes, but each hue feels dry — What bloom can deserts in blossom imply? When I write a name, my tongue turns frost, Words try to soothe, but something’s lost. Even wounds stay mute, though the cry is wet, What did we gain when our fall was set? If the quill should tear, it becomes the script, Each gesture hides a sentence, crypt. Morning arrives like a shadow slipping past — Seems I’m the one who’s hidden at last.
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Aug 6, 2025
Aug 6, 2025 at 3:00 AM UTC
Mubashir
Echoes of a Forgotten Trace
I was etched like a trace in a dream’s tale untold, No echo stirred within silence’s hold. My solitude whispered secrets I’d never known, Not the mirror — madness had truths of its own. I carved every moment upon my skin, Yet time kept bleeding from deep within. I’m a spectacle, yes, but each hue feels dry — What bloom can deserts in blossom imply? When I write a name, my tongue turns frost, Words try to soothe, but something’s lost. Even wounds stay mute, though the cry is wet, What did we gain when our fall was set? If the quill should tear, it becomes the script, Each gesture hides a sentence, crypt. Morning arrives like a shadow slipping past — Seems I’m the one who’s hidden at last.
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