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Hawa Oct 2020
The one who fought bravely or the one who sat peacefully through the war?

The one who didn't let herself fall or the one who fell immensely in love?
Hawa Oct 2020
इस कदर मुहब्बत हो गई है हमे अपने अकेलेपन से, की अपनी परछाई से भी छिपने के लिए आड़ ढूंढ़ते रहते है.
ढूंढ़ती रही में एक कोना जहा कुछ देर  सकू, लेकिन मेरी  परछाई  वहां भी साथ आ गई.
साथ आ गई तो ठीक है , साथ ले आई मेरा वजूद, मेरी पहचान, और वो नियम जिनसे में भागना चाहती थी,
और ले आई साथ वो नाम जो मेरे प्यार का दुश्मन है।
मेरा प्यार, वो अकेलापन जिसे ढून्ढ रही थी में हर जगह और जब मौका मिला की कुछ देर रो कर गुजार लू में उसके साथ,
तो मेरी परछाई साथ आ गई.
Hawa Oct 2020
If only you could hear my pain,
You would hear my cracking joints and screams, in vain.

If only they changed colors; You would see three: Black, Red, and Blue,
Covering my body through and through.

Alas! It doesn’t work that way,
So, I have to get up from my bed.
Put my make up and pretend,
This isn’t that bad or, it’s not the end.

But the tears trickle down, out of control,
Silently, no noise that you can hear.
A trickle dripped down on my cheek,
I see round a drop of pink tear.
Hawa Oct 2020
Age 3: My neighbor’s 10-year-old son.

Age 8: The bookshop owner near my house.

Age 9: My exam hall bench partner in the fourth standard.

Age 14: A biker, while I was walking home from school with my
              friend in the afternoon.

Age 15: Stranger on a bike; I was walking to the park near my
               house at 8 PM.

Age 19: My brother in law.

Age 21: A creep on a bike while I was going home riding a scooter.

A chronological list of people, who tried to sexually harass me.
I know I am not alone, a lot in fact almost everyone has suffered it. But it took me a lot of courage to speak up for myself, even though I knew it wasn't my fault. Big or small, these incidents affect our growth and shake our confidence. I urge everyone here, male, female, gender fluid people, anyone and everyone, to stop feeling guilty.

Share your incident and let it out. It is they who should be ashamed and not us.
Hawa Sep 2020
He was barely two feet tall.
When I pressed his mouth, he couldn't scream at all.
I pushed him on the floor and,
He took a tiny, ineloquent fall.

His voice muffled and shrieks inaudible.
He tried to cry, but the tears couldn't trickle.
I scared him, not knowing my mind was fickle.
Scars - Red, Blue, Green.
I, blackened his soul,
Through, his red checked shirt and ruffle.

He loved, he loved flowers,
Rose, lilac, sunflower, and lily.
Strewn, in one garland, all of them, his dreams.
While he was chasing the butterflies, happily.
I threatened him to be quiet, or I would **** his family.
And he dearly loved his sister Emily.

He stayed tongue-tied and mum.
With every hit and blow, he turned voiceless and numb.
Good for me that he was dumb.
Or was he?

He died, and I didn't realize that I killed him.

Years later when I met a monster,
Whose face seemed familiar.

He hurt me, He hurt me badly, and I shrieked WHY?

He started the sermon,
About the child, I killed once and gave birth to a demon.
Hawa May 2020
Cigarette buds, wine glasses, and hazy memories.

Unfinished conversation, people.

Room a little less Messier than life.

Still, it's difficult to stay alive.

Crushed hair, cloudy Eyes, heavy deep breath.

Broken nibs of pencils.

Twice half-read Sylvia Plath,

Lana Del Rey songs on loop.

Storylines with crushed characters.

Unfinished poems,

Completely finished thinking capacity.

Stained coffee mugs here and there.

Some as old as the blockage in my pen.
I am unable to finish this as much as I try could you all please help me in giving this a decent end?

It's about the struggles of all of us - The writers/poets and their unfinished stories.

Dedicated to all of us and thanks in advance to anyone who tries to help me with this.
Hawa May 2020
Draw me.

I searched on Google because I wanted to be drawn,
with those pencils,
gorgeous sketches,
because I look better colorless,
the way I am.

Drawn like all those girls in sketches,
some laughing,
some looking into Eternity,
some waiting for the death to come.

I would be the last one.

Draw me.

Because I am not pretty enough for them,
to be drawn by anyone.

I will draw myself.

But how long could I be able to be doing things for myself when they are not supposed to be done this way, or maybe they are?

Draw me.

I started learning the basics of drawing and life,
to draw me,
just as everything I always do for myself on my own.
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