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Zahra 5h
One
wacky
thing
about
learning-
you start
off,
knowing
less but,
feeling
sure,
you tack
on extra
syllables-
animal
becomes
'aminal',
you drop
a few-
fish turns
into "ish'
we’re born
naming
things,
impetuously,
because
meaning
can’t wait.
1d · 69
Throat
Zahra 1d
I tumbled
deep into
the garden’s
throat in
a dream,
  where scent
was thick
enough to
breathe
like water.
When i
tried
to lift my
body out,
roses
clutched
at me
tendrils
looping
my wrists,
stems
curling
my ankles,
petals
cupping
my heart.
Some
amputated
their roots
from the soil,
'howling'
refusing to
snap me off
  themselves.
2d · 109
[🌅]
Zahra 2d
What’s the
use of
knowing
life deeply
when it
  leaves before
dawn?
Zahra 3d
You can’t photograph
the sun at its highest,
or the moon when
she stares too hard,
the truest things
resist capture.
Zahra 4d
It isn’t love
that’s
"paired"
in poverty
but pain,
thick,
and
   throttling.
5d · 373
[..]
Zahra 5d
My heart
is another
miracle
you could
spot from
the quietest
parts of the
world.
Zahra 6d
I just wanted to thank you for creating such a meaningful space for poets.
Your platform has helped me grow and reach readers in ways I never imagined.

As I begin shaping my next poetry collection, I’d be deeply honored to receive a title suggestion from you.
I can’t think of a more meaningful way to name it than with your insight, since you’ve been such a part of my journey.

With gratitude,
Zahra
6d · 17
[Prior]
Zahra 6d
each time
someone
dies,
a leaf falls
from a
magnificent
tree in
paradise,
and of the
righteous,
"noor"
remains,
holy light
  maybe-  
matter
takes its
form
in the
silent bare
skies
scarped
by sun
maybe-
happiness
too first
agreed upon
in heaven,
  before it
tumbles
down here
maybe-
wherefore
its always
late,
unlike
sadness,
that we
fashion
and wear-
that comes
so often,
so easy.
Aug 1 · 45
[Memory]
Zahra Aug 1
I love
how certain
things in
my home
pull me
inward
candles
burn
unevenly,
like my
moods,
objects
talk here
hey,
remember
that night?
my
bear-skinned
pillows
have taken
the thud
of chameleonic
moods
anger,
joy,
sadness,
guilt
each mind
arriving
with its
own weather-
still things
here
remind me
of my fate
living in
a place
that keeps
returning
to love.
Jul 31 · 62
[Infidelity]
Zahra Jul 31
i see nature
as an
old bride,
adorned by
what
wounds us
she does
not mourn
cyclic
  departures.
Zahra Jul 30
i fear
that folded
slip with my
father’s stages
chronicled
in fading
script and
quiet list
of my
mother’s
final
condiments,
whatever
might make
death taste
less bitter
i don’t
want grief
to tear
anything
our parting
should be
like clouds
drifting in
shear
soft and
undramatic.
Jul 29 · 106
[Prohibited Things]
Zahra Jul 29
In my
deepest
slumber
i do
   prohibited
things
crawl
through
the soft
dark,
a thud
inside
your
organs
they
  begin to
squirm
i leave
no
language
just
presence
upon
awakening
a twitch
in the
thigh,
salt
on the
tongue,
heat
trapped
between
joints
somewhere,
you shift.
somewhere,
i remain.
Jul 27 · 3.3k
Believe
Zahra Jul 27
No one
drowns
in their
own
waters.
Fish
don’t.
How
could
you?
Jul 26 · 150
Sunflower
Zahra Jul 26
Its skin streaked
with rain and soil,
bows beneath
just a few drops
of water
grateful for even
that small sip.
Its stem,
a little bent,
its face
still golden.
And in that
gesture,
I saw the
grace of
needing little
   but receiving fully.
Jul 25 · 18
Mid Flap
Zahra Jul 25
I often break the
dough mid-flap.
it becomes prey
to the oil,
which stares at it
with cat-like eyes.
first, it burns
the part that
is torn and
undefined,
thinned too
much by a
distracted
thought.
And in that
moment,
when
the round
should

have held
its form,
I flinch
at the
supreme
domestic
undoing not
because the
roti broke,
but because
I did again
beneath the
weight
of
something
so simple,
so expected
to be perfect.
Jul 24 · 113
[Integration]
Zahra Jul 24
Sometimes
out of purpose,
Sometimes
out of love,
Sometimes
out of necessity,
Sometimes
for a reason,
Sometimes
accidentally,
We make
someone happy.
And in those
quiet moments,
we feel
most human.
Jul 23 · 3.4k
Bond
Zahra Jul 23
When I force frozen
meat apart before
it’s had time to thaw
it injures and tears
where the ice clings
too tightly.
  The meat no longer
whole, scatters into
broken bones and
bleeding fragments.
  Your absence undoes
me like this not all at
once, but with a quiet
rip, where we once
held each other too
close to separate
  without breaking.
Jul 22
Feet
Zahra Jul 22
I was sitting
deliberately
cross-legged
on the carpet,
listening to a
divine lecture,
each word felt
like light
falling in
my heart.
As I gazed
down,
my attention
drifted towards
the movement
around me
so many feet,
each searching
for space in
the crowd.
There’s something
special about feet.
They perform
classical
conditioning
on the pilgrims.
Each step a
response and
stimulus to
the next,
saying “Come.”
In mosques,
temples, and
churches,
people take
small, reverent
steps toward God.
Each foot quietly
follows the
imprint of another,
as if reinforcing
belief,
creating a path
of shared faith.
The ground
becomes sacred
not because
of what’s built
upon it,
but because
of all the feet
that have
stepped on
it with devotion
each one distinct
in size, pace,
weight, and
locomotive
ability, yet
move toward
the same purpose
carrying people
through rituals,
toward altars,
toward prayer.
They become
silent guides.
Perhaps this is
why sacred spaces
are always crowded
not just with bodies,
but with the energy
of countless footsteps,
layered one
over the other.
In divinity,
one foot invites
another,
and by these holy
increments,
faith multiplies.
Jul 21 · 104
Altruism
Zahra Jul 21
Altruism
has
become
an old
film reel,
where grief
looked noble
and death
had meaning.
Now people
water
relationships
for their
own springs.
Jul 20 · 33
Three
Zahra Jul 20
My body
only
gives three.
I’m either
sad,
happy,
or
empathetic.
That’s a
strange
kind of
survival,
a triangle
of
emotion
holding
me up.
Jul 19 · 19
🌕
Zahra Jul 19
Perhaps
moon
had been
hiding
something.
she loved
once
it hollowed
her, she
poured
herself out
into the
dark
left her
body bare,
and we
call it light.
Jul 18 · 23
Bone Pulp
Zahra Jul 18
I used to be
a difficult kid
when it came
to eating.
I didn’t
raid fridges
in quest
of food.
To ensure
my good
health,
my mother
fed me
spoonfuls
of bone pulp
on bunk beds.
She’d scoop
it out,
blowing air
to cool its fire,
then press it
into my
mouth
with the
quiet panic
only a mother
knows
fearful I’d turn
my head,
or spit
what she
believed
might
save me.
Jul 17 · 52
🌸
Zahra Jul 17
Nature depicts
abscission as the
beauty of life,
so why do I
call it detachment?
Jul 16 · 56
🪶
Zahra Jul 16
Though the
moonlight
doesn’t run
out,
and the sun
doesn’t choose
who it warms.
Still I keep
resisting
something
as if I’m
working
against the
earth. .
Jul 15 · 350
A candy was just a candy
Zahra Jul 15
When I was a kid,
emotions were
monotonous.
A candy was
just a candy.
Happiness came
fast and full.
I didn’t wonder
who gave it,
or why.
I just smiled
and ate.
Now,
I think too much
about hearts,
about hands,
about faces,
about the things
people want
when they give.
Now, a candy feels
like a trap.
Love feels like a deal.
And the world?
Too heavy
for joy to be simple.
Jul 14 · 57
Geography
Zahra Jul 14
I am the
farthest
geese,
mingling
over
mountains
but when
my
emotions
descend,
I flatten
into a
plateau.
Zahra Jul 13
You already carry
enough to be believed,
Your heart tastes like
strawberries and
listens like a god.
Your blood keeps you
from rusting and  
clears cobwebs within.
Your bones keep
your daring steps
from stumbling.
Your eyes have
the power to soak
uncertainties.
Your skin lets
you love.
Your wit helps
you continue.

What more can
they ask of you?
Jul 12 · 87
🦜🦜
Zahra Jul 12
A duo of
parrots
has been
fluttering
they’ve
made my
  room a stage.
Their wings
flap like
applause.
Everyone
calls it
sweet
I call it
performance.
I reject how
loud,
visible,
and simplistic
their love seems.
I don't like love
that performs in
daylight,
I want a love
that’s curtained
and cryptic.
Jul 11 · 62
You want a life
Zahra Jul 11
My heart
crumbles
  and offers
itself
to you
for feed,
for love,
for sanity
so you
feel full,
because you
want a life,
not just
survival.
Zahra Jul 9
Last night,
 meant to
loosen
the bulb
I wrapped
my hands
in woven
cloth, and
coaxed the
moon down
instead
It creaked,
blushed,
and fainted
slipped into
my palm,
like a lover.
Jul 8 · 41
Waves of sea
Zahra Jul 8
Waves of the
sea
smeared my
sweat
on its skin,
making
me a single unit
my effort,
my ache,
Lost in
something endless.
I gave the shore
my heat,
my hum,
my salt.
Jul 7 · 46
Time of The Year
Zahra Jul 7
It is that time of year
when the sky and
I forget we
were part of the
same clock.
The sun passes like
a stranger,
brushing past me
no warmth,
no pause.
The moon does not
show me her inner
blush, dark pink
blemishes of light.
The rainbow leaves
beneath the meadow
before I begin
to wonder.
I feel unmoored
Like a tide swelling
forward, unsure
if it’s coming to rest
or could be turned
away again.
There’s fog in my
mind, and birds
sleep on my
neural wires.
no power.
no clarity.
Jul 6 · 45
Glass
Zahra Jul 6
Soon after being
struck by
the wind and
your wayward love—
The doors of my
heart opened
Like a double-sliding
window.
I inhaled too sharply —
and the shards came in
with the air.
Jul 4 · 41
Untitled
Zahra Jul 4
I wear cotton, not crowns.
My scent isn’t silk and sugar.
I breathe a simpler kind of air.
I don’t rest where royals do.
I don’t cheer in their holy halls.
My hands wear no jewels,
but they carry
the weight of generations.
And still, I rise —
quiet, fully.
That’s how legacies
are born.
Zahra Jul 3
A tree never
weeps at night.
The birds
   are coming—
Too eager,
Too heavy.
The grass
beneath
sleeps,
still and
silent.
The fruits are
surfacing,
slow and sweet.
It breaks down
at dawn—I see
geriatric leaves
falling,
In the middle
of everything.
A tree can’t
cry, instantly like
human with
freedom—
Only the leaves,
that endured
Too much,
fall on time.
They dry beneath
stars, and by morning,
crumble, golden
at the root.
The grass leans
inward,
Its blades curled
Like a listener
carrying the weight
of someone
else’s grief.
              
🌳🌳
Jul 2 · 45
Endless One
Zahra Jul 2
They say love
ends—
That there is a
last one.
But how can
that be?
The wind
becomes the
hands of god—
whenever I
need them.
Clouds pass like
My father’s shadow—
present,
silent,
soft.
Birds scatter at
dusk like
breadcrumbs,
feeding the
hungry sky.
Fallen leaves
pat the earth
where,
I'd be buried.
How could I
not love
the newborn
flowers,
trembling naked
in sunlight,
and the bees
that circle them
like praise?
The sun being
my faith—
steady and warm.
The moon tells
me—how little
I understand.
And the stars
lean in
to comfort
the dark.
I love them
like old pottery,
and aged cheese—
weathered, imperfect,
full of story.

No—
This isn’t my last love.
It’s my endless one.
Jul 1 · 47
The Smallest Things
Zahra Jul 1
The smallest things
in the world wait
to contribute—  
seeds of thoughts
pressed in my heart,
holding forests
in their sleep.
I see the hand still
clenched, in the crib
its neck craning
like a pigeon’s
over the ledge,
as if the whole
world is waiting
below.
Jun 30 · 93
Jenga
Zahra Jun 30
Love demands
openings,
tender ruptures—
And I’m too raw
to receive them.
I hover myself
to keep
from falling—
Like blocks,
stacked in silence,
each part of me
resting on the next.
One wrong shift,
and I could unravel.
So my body
learned
not to split open
for want.
Jun 28 · 2.9k
Fallen Things
Zahra Jun 28
The sky was
cloaked
in gray.
the clouds
were weeping.
As I walked today,
tears began to
fall on me—
and they made
me fertile.
I saw golden leaves
lying crushed,
flattened
by footsteps
that never paused.
Nature often
held me,
gently even when
she grieves,
And I wondered—
If God had told us
That fallen things
were sacred,
Would we
have loved
them better?
Would we
have tread
more lightly?
Seen beauty in
their break?
Found grace
In letting go?
Would we
have stopped
Before the
bruised things—
Not out of pity,
But reverence?
On sharp stones
Lay orange
flowers,
Their sleep
just ending—
As if they were
still dreaming
Of the sun.
And in their quiet,
Something
inside me
softened, too—
A stillness,
A small bloom,
A reminder
That even
broken things
wake beautifully.

🌸🍁
Jun 26 · 54
🦢
Zahra Jun 26
In a world where love is an endangered creature, don’t wander in search of it.
Instead, accept the speed, shape, and limits nature has given you.
You are like a swan, gliding gracefully across the water, while your webbed feet paddle beneath the surface with resilience.
Though you may be seen as a symbol of fidelity, you won’t always smell sweet, and that may be a reason for being disliked.
But that’s not a flaw—just a boundary. We all have our own.
Not everything beautiful takes the same path to become a flower.
♥️
Jun 25 · 179
✔️♡
Zahra Jun 25
We need only
four things to
be whole—
love,
support,
a friend,
and— God.
Jun 24 · 135
🧊
Zahra Jun 24
I feel myself
being consumed
by the universe—
a little more each day.

The sky draws light
from my wounds,
and pulls colour
from my blood—
into rainbows.

I melt,
drown,
vanish—
like ice in wine,
quietly disappearing.

My edges
start to blur,
my shape
less defined.

Though I vanished,
I made the act
of giving fuller—
Like melting ice
lifting water,
An ascent
born gently
from my dissolving.
Jun 23 · 75
🌼🌼
Zahra Jun 23
I glanced at the veins
of daisies drifting
from the sky—
roses and tulips, too,
tangled in the clouds,
as though the heavens
were blooming in reverse.

The moon and sun
had come to earth
for rest—
to feel the grass,
to touch something green,
to turn off their lights,
and finally, just breathe.

Because even light
gets tired
of being needed.
Jun 22 · 93
😊
Zahra Jun 22
He said,
“Just fun and play.”
But I was already
half player,
half ache.
I don’t know how
to be light
when I carry
so much sky.
Jun 21 · 173
🌳
Zahra Jun 21
Like wild trees,
people branch out
fiercely—unconscious.

Some limbs reach
for light,
while others curl
into shadow.

Each one is growing
in their own time.
It’s never about you.

Don’t be bothered
by the thorns they wear.
A tree must grow them—
it’s part of its nature,
like armor,
like a dress.
Jun 20 · 272
🌙
Zahra Jun 20
I stretched far enough
to hug the moon—
and it didn’t flinch.
It stayed—unbothered,
like it had been waiting.
Jun 19 · 84
💡
Zahra Jun 19
My mind shuts down
like a city at midnight—
lights off,
but echoes still
wandering the streets
Jun 18 · 162
👀
Zahra Jun 18
Your absence hit
like a stem,
fresh-cut—
sap still weeping,
leaves still turning
toward a blue,
fictioned sun.
Jun 17 · 77
🌼
Zahra Jun 17
There’s something malignant
inside me—something that
hums in the dark,
fingers strumming a guitar
against my ribs at midnight.
By morning, a daisy unfurls
at my throat—
its tendrils trailing upwards,
like thoughts searching
for stillness at my mouth.
Jun 16 · 73
🐡♥️
Zahra Jun 16
Patience is the drug.
The more I taste it,
the more it lingers—
a stillness I now seek.

I swim through its
endless depths, sculling
like a deep-sea fish,
where light is scarce,
but slits of beauty
glow along the fins.

It brings peace—
dilating the heart
like honey, slowly poured
into the vessels,
sweetness thickening
the body—richer than doubt,
denser than love.

God’s gift—passed to me,
without a question.
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