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Sep 27 · 34
Summer Nights
It's currently nightfall.
The sky is like a pitch black movie screen,
With a sprinkle of stars scattered across the gorgeous night sky.
The sounds of trucks and cars gliding along the concrete roads are perceptible,
Despite being hidden by the fence that separates my backyard and the open world,
Sleeping soundly on the opposite side.
It smells of greenery's raw essence,
The shrubs and mint plants snoring,
Dreaming of unexpected summer rain showers.
There are pauses in between the car’s clamour,
Where the world is completely silent,
And I feel nothing but my breath to accompany me amongst a peacefully sleeping Earth.
The air begins to feel chilly,
And my cheeks lose their warmth with my palm against them.
The streetlights flicker and blink their tiresome eyes as a plane with red and yellow lights hovers over the night sky.
I stare at it in awe,
Almost like a UFO was spotted,
Loaded with foreign aliens,
Visiting Earth for the first time.
Suddenly the stars begin to fade,
The shimmer above blends with the dim black sky,
Then like a distant nightmare,
The sky erupts of tears.
I feel the tickle of a midnight down pour soaking my face.
As I hurriedly dash towards my porch door,
I stop to admire the dazzling scene of a summer night.
A beautiful black bear,
Its fur, as dim as nightfall,
And its face like the midnight moon,
A shaft of light and never ending hope.
It wanders amongst a forest,
Ringed by greenery of the landscape.
The birds overhead chant an alluring melody,
As the bear merrily strides by,
Beneath their wings of hopeful life.
The evergreen saplings giggle,
As the bear of pitch darkness enters a deluge,
An enchanting stream of eternity.
With its fangs as sharp as the glow from the miday sun,
It garners a salmon,
Splashed with a hue of flushed raspberries.
After devouring a salmon from the nearby glistening stream,
It gobbles on hundreds of ripe berries,
Whilst grinning at the beaming sun, Soaking in its rays of gorgeous light.
It smiles at the scene of Mother Nature,
Like a treasurable painting displayed in a museum,
Stripes of hope by paintbrush bristles.
Sensing a gust of wind create ripples in the water,
With trees dancing and butterflies pirouetting,
The beautiful black bear feels content,
To be within a scene of nature.
Thank you mother Nature.
Sep 13 · 22
Tired of gripping onto patience,
Ambling close together with a venomous being,
Chained by handcuffs,
And forced to never let go.
Against the boundaries we possess,
And the buckets filled with tears,
We dauntlessly decide to flee.
Escaping from our tormentors,
A scheme to be cleansed from toxicity.
But at the curb of our trail,
After sprinting for several nights,
We give up at the peak.
A starlight glow,
Beautiful but maddening,
A gleam of sabir,
Blocks our way.
We’re compelled to turn around,
And walk back home to our tormentors.
No matter what we do,
It will always end with sabir.
Manacled my left hand to yours once more,
And striding side by side again,
It will always end with that one word,
What her name ends with too,
Held firmly in our right hand.
Sep 13 · 18
The ravishing rose,
Is my journey’s end.
With its rosy flushed petals,
I long for peace,
From all the blessings of the enchanting shrub.
Running for miles,
Until I catch sight of it,
The ravishing rose.
At last I’ve found my inner bliss,
A rest for my soul to breathe.
As my expedition concludes,
And my destination lies in front of me,
I face the rose,
I died so long to touch.
But every time I come close,
And lay a hand on my purpose,
I always get hurt by the thorns.
Blemishes cover me,
They write over me like broken-hearted words from woeful poetry.
They poke at my soul,
Nudging me away,
Away from that rose,
I ventured so long to touch.
The ravishing rose,
It bursts into laughter upon seeing me,
And cleverly informs me,
That I can’t attain the beauty my soul seeks,
Without a test to wound me along the way.
The rose snickers as it catches a glimpse of my palms smeared with blood,
Scarred by its thorns.
You cannot grasp a beautiful rose,
Without getting hurt,
By its thorns.
One day,
I’ll be there.
Amidst a wave of hundreds of men and women,
A mingle of foreigners and natives,
Standing on green meadows of turf,
Gazing in wonder at the alluring Eiffel Tower.
Daydreaming of appetizing French bagels,
Whilst carrying sacks filled to the brim of brightly coloured macaroons,
And saying things like “j'aime beaucoup la France”,
And “une autre baguette s'il vous plait”!
Sensing a slight breath of wind heave me away,
I’ll be drawn back by the classical folk melody blessing the air.
The Eiffel Tower will stand vigorously,
Though I’ll persist to collapse every time I catch a glimpse at the winsome sight.
Pointing at the heavens,
Reminding me of where blessings fall from,
And dreams come true.
That little while my face will beam like a ray of sunlight,
My spirit will be in bliss,
And I’ll smile as I watch my fantasies become the truth,
Towering above me.
One day,
I’ll be there.
Sep 10 · 23
An Open Mind
It drizzles of heavenly droplets,
Trickles of new perceptions fall breezily from the clouded sky above.
You aren’t menaced by a downpour of rain,
Though you clasp an umbrella in your palm.
You’re willing to let these riveting showers soak your face,
And with a welcoming outlook,
You clutch your umbrella upside down,
Cradling the open canopy in your arms like a newly born baby.
You watch your world in your palms,
As the torrent of rain creates a swimming pool inside of your umbrella.
These remarkable ideas,
Fill up your world.

You watch as the wild blue yonder fogs with a flurry of grey,
And the sky erupts a spill of rain.
You deem the drizzle to be threatening,
And so very infuriating.
You don’t long to be drenched,
By the rainstorm of clashing beliefs.
You’re pure from mismatching difference,
And through a sensation of fear,
You hastily carry your umbrella high.
It shields you from the surrounding world,
Swamped by the cloudburst.
Your world shelters you,
From everything that is unfamiliar.
The showers of jarring minds tumble from the sky,
Through unease you dismiss them with your own world,
Your shielding umbrella canopy,
And protect yourself from difference.

In the distance you see a figure,
Drenched by the sky’s showers.
She’s carrying her world upside down,
Filling it with the rain that plummets from the sky.
The figure smiles,
And her beaming expression speaks of joy.
Her open mind,
Lead her to happiness.
A little garden brimming with years of countless beauty.
The honeybees come to startle me,
With their bothersome buzzing a skip from my ears.
The eight legged ruthless spiders,
Block my path with their creative silky web display,
Dangling erratically in the air.
And the colourless moths that flutter so elegantly around the lawn,
They all make their way,
To my blooming tree.
With smiles as bright as the sun,
I twirl companionless surrounded by the greenery of the landscape.
Nature everywhere sways as my garden hose showers the leafy shrubs,
While a seagull soars overhead.
I soak my four foot tree in a downpour of immeasurable love,
And laugh in disbelief.
Eight years ago you were nothing to me but a dull dwarf sized sapling.
I couldn’t picture a bigger world,
Where life blooms and time changes everything,
I was only in the third grade.
I couldn’t envision ever growing up,
And sprouting dreamed-up wings of freedom.
I doubted Mother Nature and your leafy wings of potential,
But today you showed me,
The moments I long awaited.
The gift of patience,
Is falling in love with your once lifeless uncertainties,
And holding dear to each and every leaf on the evergreen trunk.
I learned to love in these eight years,
And that will always be the greatest gift.
The gift of patience,
Is worth lingering for.
Sep 5 · 147
A Poet’s Dream
Devouring precious words,
Extraordinary text,
Once hidden in a treasure chest,
Inside of a stranger’s mind.
The crisp scent of a new book,
A collection of poems,
The key to someone’s mind and striking soul.
You force yourself into the marshy boots of a young girl residing on an ancient farmland field,
You feel the sunlight soaking your face,
As you pluck strawberries from the leafy shrubs,
And ride a horse across the endless meadows to taste liberty.
You inhale the air of their world,
That lives exclusively in your mind.
A world of ecstatic glee,
And shed distressed teardrops for all their little world’s sadness.
You’ve teleported into a different realm,
Following the flow of beautifully chained words,
And letting your imagination run free.
You are living in the life,
A poet once dreamed.
Twinkle twinkle little star,
How I wonder what you are!
You utter the native tongue of eternity,
When I stopped to speak to you one soundlessly desolate summer night.
Your babbling was beautifully soothing,
Though I heard absolutely nothing.
Up above a world so high,
Staring at millions of diamonds in the sky,  
I suddenly know all the answers to the puzzles.
I gaze up at your blinding twinkle,
And you flaunt me your splendid eyes of hope.
Teaching me that life is further than your numberless worries,
Because tonight the stars are seen.
We couldn’t count the stars for each and every one of our frets,
But we could try for everything we love.
You remind me that our existence is short,
And so very meaningful.
Whenever I feel wretched and in despair,
I stop to stare at the pitch black night sky,
And meet my eyes with you.
It’s the moment our eyes interlock,
That I remember the definition I promised to find in life.
When I look at you,
I think back to what molds my soul,
And discover millions of stars inside.
It was then,
That I found my meaning,
In something that had either several,
Or entirely none.
Twinkle twinkle little star,
How I wonder what you are!
Sep 3 · 32
Colony Of Ants
You’re like a colony of ants,
You disperse all over the levelled grey tiles,
And dumbly pry about in meadows of green grass.
You cluster around my feet once I’ve paced onto the chilly surface of the tiles,
And tickle me annoyingly when I’m barefoot on the turf grass.
At first you don’t look as though you would bite,
Like other creepy-crawly bugs.
You appear itty-bitty,
And undisputedly friendly.
So innocent enough to trust,
Comfortably rest on the ground,
And contentedly loosen up.
But then came your colony,
A swarm of ants each with their own secret weapon.
You bothered me with your insulting remarks,
Bruising my heart with every strike from your spiteful tongue.
Using me for your individual gain,
And shoving me away once you were done for the day.
Your jealousy had turned me into your war zone,
Where you’d fire bullets recklessly.
You came as a disguised friend,
And bit by bit,
You unveiled to me everything that sailed under false colours.
The colony of ants,
They came.
Crawling onto me irritably,
I’m wailing helplessly,
Unable to achieve victory,
Because whenever I push you away,
Stomp on the flock of ants,
They never die,
And you never leave me alone.
Now I’m shrieking,
For all of eternity,
Because I have ants,
Trapped in my pants.
Sep 1 · 28
Departing From Home
Pacing onto crisp pavement,
After years of childhood bliss.
One step towards my destiny,
Nudging the past to the rear end of my mind.
Sixteen years of breathing,
At last I’m venturing away,
Away from home.
Trickling into the streets of this suburb,
Like water through the gaps in rifts.
Gazing at the lines of houses,
Resting like brick statues before the very eyes of a sunset like fire.
Observing a hound bark at me from the drug addict’s wrecked home,
And men smoking cigarettes,
Just another evening in the suburbs.
Ambling away from the clusters of several children,
Giggling on tricycles with a trail of bubbles following,
And playing with their toy water guns.
I’m departing from the glee,
Because I’m off to grow up,
Fleeing from my early days,
And pacing on the unswerving sidewalk,
To a grinning future.
Marching by the alleys I used to scamper through as a child,
And all the houses I’ve witnessed been constructed from scratch.
I’m eager to leave it all behind,
And race towards my world ahead.
The mourning crows cry as they devour waste from the garbage cans,
The looming cars move steadily into driveways,
Unravelling with families gone to grocery stores.
The sky is brimming with thousands of erupting fireworks,
Of flames and amber explosions.
The crows are chanting a deafening song,
Perched on blinking streetlights.
Reflecting on those past memories,
When they were just my present.
Flopped in a booster seat in the back of my mother’s car,
On my way to elementary school,
The ABC’s embedded in my head,
Back in 2010.
Smiling at that house at the end of the side street,
The one that’s been under construction since 2004.
Oh all the demolished bungalows,
The middle class families and their fixation with building mansions!
Why would they destroy these lovely homes,
Furnished with years and years of a million happy memories,
Just to settle in a vacant house with nothing,
Nothing but work to do,
To make the home a memory aisle.
There’s no point in caring,
Because I’m leaving it all behind.
Wandering on these suburban sidewalks,
I’m walking on a route of golden opportunity,
To an exceptional future.
Trekking away from the immature world of blowing bubbles and untold bicycle bliss,
To a new realm of discovery ahead.
One that entails a ladder to success,
And walking sidewalks to grasp independence.
I can’t wait to go there,
I can’t wait to grow up.
Meet my destination,
And make a new home there.
But what if I turn back,
What if I change my mind,
And walk back to my childhood and my home?
What if I toss my future out the car window,
And sprint back to my home,
Of laughing children playing soccer on pavement road?
What if I quit this journey,
And miss the chances I never took?
The infinite odds keep me striding forward on my feet,
What will my future hold?
I can see a beam of light ahead,
A glow of freedom.
It inhabits in faraway places,
And I can’t grip it if I abandon this journey and walk home.
Still I fear the obstacles along the way,
I dread failing after struggling so hard,
Is it really worth forgoing this adventure now?
I have to walk,
But back at home all I did was play.
All this work,
Is it worth it?
I miss all the beautiful ordinary things,
The tears that caress these cheeks are filled with grief,
I’m losing everything I once held so spiritedly,
My grip is loosening,
Why have I chosen to let go,
Of my childhood?
The thought of this loss is what’s holding me back from wandering alongside this unexplored road,
It utters to me,
Forcing me to turn back,
And walk home.
I’m unaware of where to go,
My feet have stopped,
And I’m inert and tense.
The flames are now peaceful,
And a black screen gently shades the sky.
It’s getting dim,
Yet constellations haven’t been noticed,
Still the streetlights illuminate the roadway.
Do I walk to my future,
Like balancing on a threadlike rod in the sky,
Or walk back home,
Live merrily once again?
I lay my back on the cold concrete road,
The path of survival,
Where cars come and go.
Resting my head to watch the starless sky,
I don’t care about where I’m going.
I’m left bare minded,
Surrounded by two worlds divided.
Soundlessly laying on the road of survival,
An endless route of dreading destiny’s hurdles,
Deciding to remain a child forever.
I know it’s beyond the bounds of possibility,
To not grow,
So I’m choosing to linger for an obstacle,
And let it crush me softly.
When will a car come and glide,
Over my glum doleful face,
Impairing it in seconds?
When will it come,
So I don’t have to breathe for the coming times,
And the memories that **** me for embarking on this journey,
When will it come so they perish too?
The rain has arrived,
Drizzling from the pitch blackness above.
Now heavily it falls from hellish thunderclouds,
My head rests in a murky pool of storm water.
It’s done,
The journey is done.
All the faith I stored to reach the dazzle of my destiny,
Melted by this torrent,
And my irrational wits,
Shoving me into a thick marsh of beaming memories from the past.
The future,
It’s gone.
Aug 29 · 21
Folding Laundry
You wear a phoney facade,
A persona you dress in to please people.
You wash it from time to time,
When it gets worn out and greasy.
Tossing it into the laundry,
And cleansing it so it can conform to what people fleetingly demand from you.
You’re a people pleaser honey,
You crave the gratification from others,
Because you so desperately want them to like you.
In your wardrobe rests hundreds of clothes hangers,
Holding dozens of prepared outfits.
Turn them topsy-turvy and you’ll find,
A dozen set disguises.  
So many different getups,
For so many different occasions,
A get-together friends party,
Having dinner with family,
And when you’re hanging out with the cool clique.
You’re constantly swapping masks,
When bumping into new people,
Each crowd craving something distinct from you.
All your clothes contain a hue of sky blue,
Even though you resent the tint of blue.
You flaunt it as your favourite colour to conceal your true shades,
You love a splash of rosy pink but blue is ultimately cooler,
So blue is your favourite colour.
When nightfall draws near after a tiresome day of pleasing people,
You carefully fold your laundry.
Vigilantly so the fabric doesn’t rip from your facades,
Because you care a lot about what people think of you.
Settled amongst your laundry and within your closet,
Is a society of countless unique individuals,
But none of them are you.
From my birth,
The dawn of life,
You didn’t think twice,
About the name I was handed.
A label I didn’t quite understand,
But I wore it on my head obliviously.
Heedless of the might and lavish worth,
I lusted after less dominant titles.
Behind that label I wore so cluelessly,
Was the dictionary definition,
Of a title I wasn’t pleased with.
“A queen who rules”,
A name handed to me,
Like a crown given by accident.
Strange, zany, unattractively odd,
My name was supposedly nothing but bizarre.
I loathed my name,
And weighed it to others.
Oh the girls named Sarah,
Their names would always ascend above me on society’s scale,
With its pretty chime departing from the lips.
Oh the girls named Sarah,
All these years I craved for your name,
I wanted to be the princess that you were,
But now I know,
I am power,
The game changer,
In the complicated game of chess,
That we call life.
Pondering back to Persian origins,
I remain the name for the queen,
The most powerful piece in chess.
I learned that I am no princess,
When my name means queen.
I am reclaiming my name,
And I will live up to my title.
Sarah may surpass me,
But I rise up on scales,
Of meaning.
Aug 28 · 23
Casual Magic
Your walks at dawn beneath the crisp and cloudless sky,
Gazing at the sunlight,
Toasting your face.
The trickles of water from the garden hose,
Soaking your trousers,
Whilst bathing the tree you planted,
Eight years ago.
Breathing in the present,
And sipping milkshakes,
Of the clashing music of suburban life and the natural world.
Cooking lovely platters for the family,
And smiling when chopping the onions,
Laughing at how the tears burn your eyes!
Staring at the world slip by,
At midnight through the glass of your bedroom window,
The eye to the world you can hold,
And firmly possess.
The stillness at witching hour,
And your grin to value it,
Makes you fall in love with your life.
Laugh at every moment of life,
You’re breathing,
So be in blithe,
Rest your head on cloud nine,
And begin to romanticize the mundane bits of your life.
That is when you will discover,
Everyday casual magic,
In all the jaded things.
Smile when life serves you a flavourless meal,
And celebrate what isn’t normally celebrated.
Tear your curtains off your window,
And let your whole world know,
You’re the main character.
Make everyday life things,
Aug 28 · 23
Poolside Tears
My eyes are spellbound,
Threading water in a swimming pool.
The farther down they stray,
To the pit of this manufactured ocean,
The more they shed waterfalls.
The turquoise water glints,
Despite seeming tranquilly lifeless.
The picture is torn as a flood edges near,
Third graders,
Oh the water,
How it ripples,
As cackling third graders leap in.
I was there too,
Gaping at the spirited riptide.
A shattered nine year old,
Weeping on the bleachers,
I didn’t know how to swim,
Tumble ten feet from above into the water,
Or float without drowning.
So I sat there for several hours,
Watching my friends play in gladness.
No one came back to me,
Oh my friends,
Funny how they just left me,
And ditched to whimper dumbly.
I wasn’t allowed to swim,
I was always being told that young women should be hidden,
Left stranded just to peer at their friends,
Swaying with the tides,
While I’m unknown,
Sobbing on the bleachers.
They don’t swim”.
I’d skip all the field trips to water parks,
Though I’d always craved of tripping to Cultus Lake.
My face would be an art canvas for my tears to play,
When I’d come home after field trips to the pool with my class.
I was never gifted any sympathy,
Or a hug for comfort,
Perched on the bleachers isolated.
All I died for as a child,
Was to learn to bike and swim.
Regularly degraded,
The sound of laughter from my friends,
As they picked at the empty holes in my heart.
I was your public display,
A showpiece of humiliation,
On the school playground.
You made me feel helpless,
And it crippled my self confidence.
I never wished to be an outcast,
But I’d always be watched like an alien,
When I’d say I don’t know how to bike or swim.
I’d come up with fabricated lies,
To sprint from the embarrassment.
I never stopped running,
But finally,
I think it’s time to take a breath.
Oh these swimming pools crammed with third grade children,
Dancing along to the rhythm of the tidal flow,
I’m there too,
Drenched in my own pool of teardrops.
Just sitting there on the bleachers,
What does it feel like,
To be ringed by water?
Aug 26 · 45
She was breathing the Autumn wind,
Beneath the twinkling star of daylight,
Easing her soul,
And leaves painted with stripes of fire,
Fusing the relish within her.
But when the abominable drew near,
It came like a blizzard.
The star of daylight grew dim,
And flakes of colourless dust tumbled from the skies.
The deplorable hour knocked her,
Striking on the skin of her flames.
The leaves began to fade,
And her soul lost its colour.
She was a fragile leaf dangling off of a tree’s upper limb,
The crummy times had hit,
And she toppled from where she once sat beaming at the sun.
She is the colour of a dying leaf,
In the frigid weather of winter.
Aug 22 · 28
Within the bounds of our friendship,
I always hear sirens going off in the distance.

On sunset strolls in my compact backyard,
I’m gazing at the tinted sky,
Painted by God with a golden flat paintbrush,
Heavenly skies of a fused crimson and Indian yellow.
The cars beyond my fence bolt in all possible roadways,
I can sense the urban vivacity on the other end of this barrier.
Teenagers wandering along the pavement,
Rattling on about something stupidly silly,
And giggling noisily on the sidewalk,
As cars honk on the busy streets.
The Tim Hortans parking lot is partly empty in the evening,
People exit with hot chocolates and black coffees gripped in their palms.
The August sunshine begins to set in the west,
Behind the steady green traffic lights,
Staining the sky with beautiful blazing flames.
The streetlights flicker as the evening shifts to nightfall,
On my end of the fence I’m touched by rural life.
I’m tranquilly soaking my plants,
Feeding them with a daily dose of garden hose water.
The tree I planted when I was eight,
And my mint shrubs sleeping in the corner.
The ants dance in circles on the grey tiles,
And a dog barks in a distance three townhouses away.
The sky is moonlit,
Sprinkled with thousands of stars.
But on this beautifully serene night,
I can hear a harsh ringing.
It’s getting louder and louder,
I’m making an effort to take no notice of it and admire the nighttime beauty,
But the noise smogs my mind.
Louder and louder,
Like a newborn baby wailing,
A foreign ringing from the distance,
It’s getting closer.
The closer it’s getting the more overwhelmed I feel,
I just can’t take it anymore,
I think I’m dying!
Call an ambulance,
Or 9-1-1!


Through the complexities of our bond,
All I could hear,
Were sirens in a distance.
They were oceans away,
And very faint,
Yet I looked the other way,
And covered my ears.
I let this toxic relationship ruin me.
It got louder,
But I kept choosing you over the constant warnings,
And all the ringing alarm bells for help.
You had already destroyed me,
And that’s when I could hear the sirens the most,
When they were so utterly close to me.
But it was too late,
And long over-due.
The sirens grew faint,
And suddenly,
I was helplessly stuck,
In a toxic friendship.
Aug 22 · 25
Locker Boys
Prowling past that particular clique,
You’re like a wild grizzly bear,
Roaming abreast of a menacing car, Overflowing with inattentive humans.
They always cramp the locker hallways,
So you feel compelled to awkwardly shuffle around them,
Just to safely get to your locker.
Of course their crowd blocks you’re path,
Like the Berlin Wall,
Detaining outsiders from invading their region.
You’re hoping you don’t crash into them,
Oh their piercing laughter,
And their wounding tongue,
It’s the locker boys.
Hanging out in a flock near the lockers,
Resembling a swarm of geese on a humid morning,
A sight you’d see on a walk at dawn near the local pond.
You pretend to immerse yourself into your phone,
Your head to the floor.
Timidly pacing by,
Hoping they don’t pay attention to you,
Or snicker behind your back.
Locker boys,
These are the bullies,
That damaged you.
They tortured you with virtual remarks,
Hurled you into the dimness of the shade,
And titled you as “uncool”.
You’re insecure trekking past the tormentors that misused you,
And poked at your blemishes.
They are the people that sprinkled table salt on your scars,
And cackled at you bawling in distress.
You’re growing weaker,
Like a flower sinking six feet under,
Owing to the Sahara sun.
To them you are easy prey,
For affliction.
You’re hiding from them,
Even though you don’t wish to gift them with this fragile version of you.
You’re stripping your own character,
To let them carry on with their fiery crimson flames.
How do you narrow their blazing self-conceit?
Instead of feeding the fire wood,
Give them the air of the serene sea.
Gaping over your shoulder,
You see them,
The well-liked untouchable jocks.
You whirl around,
And dauntlessly stride towards the crowd.
Ambling through the flames,
And piercing through the middle like a seemingly endless stream of water.
Ripping soil into the two fringes of a water coarse,
And snipping fire into two,
You plop next to your locker,
And smile at the flames that once hurt you.
Fire overtook you,
But you’re not a deserted forest under the Egyptian sun,
You’re the water,
Of a thunderstorm drizzle,
A tidal flow from the sea,
And a beautiful flowing stream.
You may be water,
But you’re strong.
Strong enough to be oblivious by foolish flames,
And powerful enough to defeat them along the way.
Locker boys,
Won’t ******* me anymore.
One stale October night,
After fulfilling some schoolwork duties,
We got a tragic phone call.
Mom picked it up and responded with a stark “hello”,
But then there was a gravely long silence,
The hush was awfully unsettling.
Tears were shed,
As the phone had tumbled onto her lap,
She sat there weeping uncontrollably.
Our family assembled to discover what was up,
And our expressions immediately dropped.
Our dull eyes had transformed to wretched and glum.
I didn’t know how to process what was happening,
It was as if everything was moving in a slow motion sequence.
My mind was vacantly bleak,
But my soul was enduring agony.
Like a whirlwind,
We hopped into our truck and drove away,
Away to the place of mourners.
I sat gazing into the dimness of nightfall,
At the lengthy highway roads and bridges.
Silently we all kept reserved,
I dispersed a stream of tears,
And for the first time,
My mind was quiet.
We gathered together with plenty of broken-hearted hugs,
And cherished the memories we spent with our beloved.
I lingered with the children,
And we watched some Netflix,
Yet my mind still couldn’t piece together everything that was happening.
Was our world ending?
We left the land of melancholy grievers after numerous hours,
And I was told we were skipping school the next day.
My first loss of a loved one,
I was unsettled,
And my wit was treeless.
When calamity struck,
My mind refused to accept death.
The streetlights flickered peacefully whilst our worlds had abruptly been shaken up.
We wordlessly shuffled as we strode along empty concrete roads,
And walked home under the pattering midnight rain.
Aug 18 · 20
Coping Mechanism
The moment I sit down to write,
I sweep everything else mundane to the rear end of my mind.
Dashing to my wooden desk,
Littered with paintbrush bristles and a mess of star shaped sequins,
I grapple the nearest pencil.
I tear apart an ivory hued paper,
With soft blue stripes from my school notepad,
And gape in awe at the miracles of the two combined.
With empty lines and a sharpened pencil clenched in my palm,
I’m floating amongst a sea of possibilities.
Magic occurs when the pencil is lost in the thick of its words,
And the paper unleashing delightful sighs as it peers at the beauty of messily handwritten art.
I’m left speechless with wonder at the power of the tip of a pencil,
Words don’t fail when I unchain my my mind and let it flood on paper.
I pour out my heart,
And mind,
That takes bravery to do,
It’s less painful on paper.
It drenches with the contents spilled from my spirit,
The paper weeps hearing all my woes and aims in life,
But it vows for it all to remain an unknown story.
It silently listens to my intellect and wonders avidly when I’ll treat the empty lines with more of my wisdom.
I’m composing words that dance and sing off my tongue,
Pouring out the hundreds of art canvases trapped my mind,
The expressive metaphors and all the bedazzling imagery,
That paint my repressed emotions,
And everything between the lines.
I write to help me cope,
To touch the world in a different light,
And make me trust that sunshine exists.
I write to untie art wherever possible,
And cherish the written magic.
Standing on the fringe of a grand cliff,
I’m shoved towards the gloom by my foes.
I’m tumbling,
To the finish line,
Despite that I’m losing,
At life.
To where death lies,
All my bitter memories,
Burn in front of my eyes.
The envision of departing from life won’t flee from my mind,
For I despise myself,
And I‘m itching to leave.
The farther I’m from the peak of the cliff,
The more I crave to nap soundly in my grave,
Because I’m weary from my life.
The closer the turf is to me,
The more it’s slipping from my mind,
All my life’s value and worth.
But then came a conquering hero,
The self-love torchbearer dressed in a superhero cape.
That hero,
Rescued me that day.
It caught me falling,
And soaring upwards,
It lead me back to a better life,
At the top of the cliff,
And destroyed my tyrants.
If it wasn’t for self-love,
I would’ve steered myself far away.
For once I’m glad,
I didn’t die.
Aug 15 · 22
Gut Feeling
My heart is an inflating latex balloon,
It puffs up,
And sprouts an appetite for butterflies.
Bearing youthful caterpillars with wings,
Fluttering chaotically in its belly,
It itches to set them unleashed.
“When will it pop?” I ask myself frantically.
Quivering butterflies dressed in lifeless wings,
Gory trickles of blood,
The ***** from my mouth.
I’m feeling sickly queasy,
Help me God,
Help me!
I’m risen to my feet,
Still in front of this **** computer display,
Uttering my prayers and hoping the letter I appoint is correct,
Or else all my gladness would dwindle.
I’m pondering over each letter vigilantly,
A, B, C, and D,
Oh my gosh they all look like carbon copies!
Conscious that minutes are running out,
Moments away from my heart exploding,
An eruption of perished butterflies.
I want to weep like a toddler departing from the toy store,
But the Earth will proceed to move,
And my expression of fear will go unnoticed.
So I select the letter my gut draws me to.
The second I graze my thumb over the letter,
I sense a crowd of pity and regret.
I feel a dozen people circling around my screen with bold characters spelling “loser”,
They’ve all come to watch me,
Just to see me topple off of a steep cliff.
I can’t bear watching mom and dad miserably console me,
Or knowing that three bitter hours of studying,
Five hundred mock questions,
And a million prayers,
Will sink to the foot of the sea,
And I’ll be left with a floating glass bottle,
Containing a letter,
With the word “failure”.
But the screen alters to a cluster of different words,
Like a poetry stanza.
I’m skimming through a heap of vain until I see,
I’ve passed,
My learner’s licence test.
I trusted my gut,
Thank you.
Aug 13 · 19
I Am Two
I am red,
And green,
Beguiling but messily combined paint.
I am no solid twenty four-carat pigment,
I am two.
Muddled with chaos and heaps of emotion,
I am two.
When I spin and whirl on a canvas,
The stains and smears exhibit a rainbow spectrum,
Of ruby red,
A crowned head on a scarlet throne,
Like maple leaves on the peak of an autumn tree,
And emerald green,
The hidden leaves amid the cluster of ripe autumn maples on the tree,
Gripping onto its limbs and aiming not to fall with the season,
Like crescent moons and hidden stars of virtue and peace.
Oh the green leaves on maple trees!
Rest In Peace.
The colour that bleeds with passion whilst you’re dancing in a crimson dress,
And the colour that oozes from the living world within you onto the soil you meditate on to give life to fields and fields of grass.
Mixing and mixing of two that don’t match,
You end up with a frenzied mess,
I am no solid colour.
I’m twirling with streaks of red and green,
Like the colourful veins displayed on your wrist,
Adding flavour to your naked skin.
At times it’s unchallenging to express both colours equally,
But every so often one colour tramples over the other.
Mixing and mixing,
Yet sometimes the performance is brown and bland,
It’s like the paint has given up.
It relentlessly inquires it’s hue and identity,
And clouds its stripes of beauty with shade.
Lack of purpose covered in brown,
And the paintbrush,
It just keeps pirouetting.
The red blotch of paint,
Or the green blotch,
Which am I?
How can I pick which is better,
Which I choose to exhibit to others,
When I am two,
And not a solid colour?
I dance on paper as maple leaves and crescent moons,
But as I glide across a meadow of colourless white snow,
The red and green alter their enacting sequence.
Along a highway brimming with prismatic dancers,
Paving through fields of white snow,
I’m ridiculed for my green veins,
And shamed for the red.
The eye of lookers in a museum gape at my canvas smeared with unfamiliar abstract art,
Their mockery destroys the hued bands in the paintbrush’s bristles.
Oh the red and green paint,
Diverges into a river of brown,
Along a colourless slate.
The paint just wanted to be perfect for them,
But blending and blending of the two colours,
Created a pointless living soul,
A figure split in two,
So very disarrayed.
I am of two,
I am no solid colour.
I won’t tear this paper nor this road for solely red or green.
On one paper,
One road,
And one being.
I will dance with a mismatching blend of crescents,
And maple leaves,
Because I’m not ashamed of expressing two.
I am Pakistani Canadian,
I am two.
Aug 11 · 23
I‘m jostled into the sea,
By my own frenzied nonsense.
A dispiriting pit coiling towards demons afraid of sunlight,
Oh the murky underworld,
It greets me.
Do humans sink or float,
When an erratic force knocks them down?
Because I don’t know how to swim.
That unexpected heart beat,
Pounding uncontrollably.
The tense muscles in my face,
And streams of terror oozing from the eyes that wish to be blind.
The heat on my face,
And blood rushing to my head whilst my mind fogs of panic.
Of flushed reddened cheeks,
I fear of dying.
I’m suffocating from unease,
This ocean,
Oh how it’s eating me!
As I descend into a world of gloom,
I give up the fantasies that were too wild and senseless,
And everything beautiful planted in my imagination,
Until I become soulless.
Everything became unreachable,
Once I was thrown into the sea,
That pessimistic pit.
It drowned me.
Aug 10 · 23
August 9th 2020
2 crinkly blue,
Birthday balloons.
Teeming with helium,
Floating in your room.
Lightbulbs began blinking,
As I captured a brilliant idea,
And shared it with all of you.
We scampered to find scrap paper in your drawer.
I dug up a pen and you rooted out a Sharpie,
We hurried to jot down something witty.
A secret message we thought,
We shared our cake of mind,
As we thought it was crazy.
“We must write something historic!”
“Something idiotic but also incredible!”
“We’re going to be famous!”
They praised my handwriting,
Whilst I composed our secret message,
And signed using all our first names.
We speedily rushed to link our secret message to the balloon,
And squabbled about where it should go.
I thought tied to the end of the string would be good,
But you proposed directly on the balloon,
So I settled and agreed.
We struggled to tape it,
And realized midway,
Our message was double sided!
Laughing it off we kept going,
We scurried outside to your backyard,
And stood under the cloudless blue sky.
The 4 of us grasped the string together,
And we let it go up into the heavens.
Like a ghost the balloon awkwardly danced in the sky,
Until it soared.
We laughed and screamed,
We stumbled and watched it fly,
Until it was far,
Far away.
We waved goodbye at the tiny twinkling blue dot in the sky,
And hoped whoever found it,
Would smile.
Aug 10 · 21
Comfort Zone
Within my little circle,
This compact ring I call my comfort zone,
Serenity has won over my madness.
I feel tranquil inside the boundaries,
But I feel fretful when I’m shoved outside it.
My manner of existence is like a statue inside this bounding line,
Yet my life will soar once I stride to the skin of this circle,
And the worst part is,
I know.
I’m too tense and timid of the uncertain.
I’m ridiculously spooked of having no border,
No line drawn in thick Sharpie,
No wall made of stone,
To protect me.
Don’t expect me to race towards the stars once I’ve paced outside my consoling district.
All that time inside my home,
My own little galaxy,
I could spot the stars from afar,
I longed to touch them,
But I’d dread going near them.
Expect me to be astray,
And lose a hundred times.
I always won in my circle,
But outside my world with no borders,
Is a galaxy of asteroids,
Prepared to strike me when I’m most vulnerable.
Expect me to adapt and attempt to become contented,
Sketch a new line,
Redefine my comfortable,
Migrate into a new home,
Before I glide towards the moon.
Aug 8 · 18
Only Our Souls Love
She has a touch of magic in her soul,
And so does he.
She and her essence,
Are an enthralling magnetic scope,
And he’s the invitation,
For their souls to play and enrapture.
It’s just that he is yet to arrive,
At the doorstep of her meadow of magnetism.
Not close enough to sense a pull,
And gape at their souls meshing.
For the time being,
Her soul is lingering in solitary,
Waiting on the other magnet.
Let’s have firm trust she finds him,
And he finds her,
Before the hourglass has nothing to lose.
Let’s hope they write a love story,
About 2 enticing souls being tugged to one another.
The ones they solely write in fictional books and movies.
Let’s hope their souls pull.
She could find any other being,
But only our souls love.
2 magnetic souls,
Don’t repel.
Aug 7 · 17
The Fall Of Rain
The drizzle from the after world curbs the abundant sunshiny summer day streak.
The droplets from the cosmic downpour stroke against your bedroom window.
You feel imprisoned,
Confined to the 4 walls of your home,
Because now you‘re compelled to hide,
From the rain,
Stay inside,
In fear of being drenched.
You’re advised to keep your umbrella elevated,
As your guard and shield,
From the blessings showered on us from above.
We’ve been notified as children,
We need to devour on our nourishing fruits,
And not always wolf down chocolates and candies,
So why can’t we be thankful for the fruitful god sent gift,
Of rain,
And for once think no more of the pleasing aesthetic of a sunny day?
The fall of rain isn’t unfortunate,
The wet weather won’t impair you,
It’s not your enemy,
So stop hiding.
Just as the felicity from the sunbeams comes to an end,
The rewarding showers will too.
The flooded highways will eventually dry,
Because rain is just another slice of the tremendous cake of life,
And yet we dart,
From the blessings that fall from the sky?
Why do we sing out our love for the sun on mountaintops,
But run towards the cave when the thunderstorm hits?
The most dauntless humans,
Who live in fear of none,
Stand motionless under the drizzle of rain clouds.
It’s the spirited souls,
That dance in the rain,
And become it’s friend.
Aug 4 · 25
Blueberry Farm
The blinding sun,
Far off,
Beyond the skyline.
I wish I could be in the vicinity of the horizon,
But it always runs away.
The sun is tumbling,
Inch by inch,
As it glints on the blueberry meadows.
We gaze in awe at the rows and rows of mansions,
The mystical castles,
So oversized and spacious.
We look closely at the frosty vanilla ice cream on the mountains afar.
The blueberries are plump,
Bundled jointly,
Desperately waiting to be plucked.
We collect masses in silence,
And watch the jet overhead dance in the sky,
For some reason I have a TikTok song trapped in my head.
We fill shopping bags of blueberries until our arms are worn out and weak,
Tense the bag will tear,
Scattering thousands of blueberries onto the land.
The pickup truck nearby creates a whopping dust cloud,
Making us sneeze uncontrollably.
We clumsily stumble to our truck,
And bathe our blueberry stained hands with the water from our water bottle.
Oh how I dream I can always slip away,
From this mundane,
Urban life,
And live amongst a blueberry farm,
And watch the sun dip below the horizon everyday.
I wish we could launch all our cellphones into a nearby lake,
And inhale the air of mother nature,
And lead a life in the present instead of pondering in the past.
Departing from the countryside,
And revisiting our conventional suburban life.
Oh how I miss it,
The blueberry farm,  
And the quarantine August breeze.
Aug 3 · 17
The Serpent Of Envy
The serpent of envy gingerly wriggles,
With bloodshot green eyes,
Out of its ditch,
Settled at the foot of my heart.
It darts angrily,
Towards the apple tree.
It conquers my every emotion,
All the gestures of my soul,
And discards a ghoulish black ink to the remains of my overwhelmed heart.
The serpent of envy,
Desperately trekking from the depths,
To the utmost peak.
It bolts towards the apple tree,
Leaving behind its unpleasant ink.
It watches with its rich green eyes,
A world of perceived perfection,
An ideal,
The serpent so despairingly craves.
It thirsts for the ripest apple’s impeccability,
It’s tenderness,
And all it’s exhibited excellence.
With a heart hazed by pitch black resentful ink,
The serpent of envy demolishes the lushest apple,
And the entire tree.
Aug 2 · 25
Only One Day On Earth
Baby’s cry,
A long day on Earth ahead.
The Earth was here first,
We’re all just its petite pocket sized ornaments.
Together we mould the Earth into a stone,
More beautiful.
People interlacing,
On a floating boulder of whimsical green and blue,
Seeking to discover our purpose.
We all get so wrapped up,
On terrestrial matters.
We do,
And do,
And do,
But never stop,
To cherish the air we inhale fortunately,
To be present on the grounds of the living,
To walk the Earth,
The gift of life.
It’s just one day,
One life,
To celebrate what we have,
Before a messenger of God descends from the kingdom of Heaven,
To usher us somewhere into the clouds.
A relief from all that is impure.
Earth provided,
And we took all for granted.
When we steer towards our graves to sleep,
After a long day on Earth,
We won’t wake up on these turfs again.
We only take with us our sins and good deeds,
Our materialistic affairs,
And all the money we possessed,
Gets left behind.
Aug 1 · 14
Gen Z
We are the generation,
Of a tranquil wordless classroom,
When the teacher asks an enlightening question.
In a realm of presumed learning,
I’m ringed by students absent,
Gone to travel somewhere in their clever minds.
We bury our brilliant ideas far into our heads,
In unease that we may be judged,
Or worse,
Get the answer wrong.
We sit rattled in our seats,
Cognizant of all the answers.
But when the teacher asks for a witted rejoinder,
We forge a perplexed expression,
And our gaze wanders off,
From eye contact.
We crave so much from this makeshift life,
We possess dreams that skyrocket through the roof of this stunted classroom,
This school,
This planet.
We own dreams that could spiral upwards into space,
Dreams that aspire to dance with the stars.
It all starts in the classroom.
Raise your hand,
And let loose,
Your dynamic brain.
Jul 31 · 217
Ode To Another Breath
Sweet sweet relish of death,
Unparalleled to another breath.
Drawing in a promising life,
And untying the blackened knots of hopelessness within.

Another second to cherish the beautiful gift of life,
Like your palms unlatched for the birds to perch and chant a melodious tune.
With every bare breath,
We tempt the true beauty of life.
Jul 31 · 28
What will I feel when I let you go?
Will it be cloudless relief or regret,
When the vibrant paint melts from the rainbow?
Our meshed hands will disengage and yet,
I don’t know if I will ever forget,
Your version of love, tied to utter greed.
You gave me more than I could ever need,
But is heartfelt love immaterial?
I could bear this love and cry till I bleed,
Or flee and be my life’s imperial.
Jul 30 · 28
Inner Essence
The grinning blossoms,
Dance to the bird’s rich jingle,
Perched on evergreens.
The soil fastens their souls,
And frees the nature within.
Jul 29 · 22
A Thousand Blades
Never ending torment, like a thousand blades darted at me, for the stamp punched on my forehead, this system gifted me.

Erupting laughter and objectionable glances, jabs me till I bleed. Your bundles upon bundles of envy that you hurl at me concealed behind that word, digs deep into my bare skin. They leave behind wounds.  But when I make an effort to become you so I can amuse you and your parallels, you fire another bullet and call me a wannabe.

Raising my palm in class for all the answers magnetizes your resentment, cloaked behind the bullets that sit on your tongue. My admiration for education is granting me hostility instead of praise.

Detrimental destruction is achieved on my end of the bullet, it’s more than just a label, sticker, or a foolish petty name. I’m broken all because of you and your stupid phrase.
Hell commences in the depths of the dark,
Devilish spirits fog my subconscious.
A figure with the cry of a dog’s bark,
And blood shot eyes of the stark obnoxious.

The beasts trapped in my mind take me to Hell,
Crossing a road from content to deranged.
Placed in an overthinking prison cell,
All my world’s delight is interchanged.

The ghosts strike me into an empty pit,
Where I create a sea of helpless tears.
Swimming amongst my emotions of *****,
I journeyed Hell to dodge my Earthly fears.

But when I wake up, I won’t be in flames,
I’ll be on Earth, playing life’s stupid games.
Jul 23 · 35
This is a song I wrote about the corona virus and my personal experience with the 2020 quarantine so far from the viewpoint of a teenager. I wrote this song in 1 day and I’m very passionate to say that this is my very first song I’ve ever written. It was so much fun to write, I just love that I’ve picked up this new skill considering how much I already cherish it. I sampled this song off of the Disney Pixar song “Lava”. I hope you enjoy and I hope this motivates you to keep going, even during these strange times.

“Quarantine” By Farzeen Rashid


I haven’t seen my friends in so long,
It’s been 4 months, thought I’d write this song,
To remind you to be strong,
When you’re home all day long.

On Friday the 13th of March,
Was the day that we diverged.
We had our last normal day,
Before a virus was on its way.

I still remember staring at my phone,
With wide eyes and a woeful groan,
I’d never felt so alone.
One million corona cases,
2020 is all but aces.

Online school was pretty lonely,
I didn’t ever feel quite *****.
But all the Microsoft Team calls,
Reminded me of the school halls.
I’d always get so overjoyed,
Though I’d be dimly paranoid.
If I turn on my mic by chance,
That would be an awkward circumstance.
Did I perhaps forget to mention,
I couldn’t ever pay attention,
During all my online tests,
Even though I tried my best.

Either way I’m happy we survived,
Even when the ****** hornets arrived.
I’ll wear my mask when I go out,
And sanitizer with no doubt.

This year has shown us reality,
Of unjust police brutality.
I’m genuinely hurt and torn,
I will stand and I will mourn,
For the murderer of George Floyd,
Racism never had a past void.
Black lives matter and should be free,
Why don’t you see?
Open your eyes humanity.
I dream a place of equality,
With a stable economy.
I frankly can’t wait to grow up,
Once we’re no longer locked up.
To make this world a better place,
We’ll unite as the human race.

I can’t wait to tell my kids,
I survived a pandemic.
They’ll ask for stories and I’ll say,
Something stupidly cliche.

For now let’s take time to reflect,
About everything we used to neglect,
Like socializing without caution,
And not scrubbing every so often.

I’ve learned a hatful of new skills,
More than I thought I ever will.
From sketching to poetry,
Crochet and embroidery.
Theres so much you can do with this time,
It doesn’t even cost a dime.
Practice all your old hobbies,
Maybe write a fun story?

I thought I’d never say this but,
I miss high school quite a lot.
I can’t wait to go back and see,
All my friends,
And be carefree.
Jul 21 · 31
A wonderfully bright hijabi,
Who wore clothes alike to a saree.
Daily injustices,
For holy practices,
Made her lose her true identity.
Jul 20 · 25
Salt Water Fantasy
Ripples in the deep,
Dancing water near and far,
The sea, oh the sea.
Jul 20 · 22
Taken By The Ghosts
The clash for freedom,
Snatched their breath, their spirits flew,
Red poppies, they bloom.
Jul 18 · 33
The Faucet
The faucet.
You sink your hand under it,
Awaiting its soothing sprinkle of the sea,
To wash away the dirt from your palms,
To purify yourself,
From the filth that lies in your hands.

After engaging in hundreds of sins,
And wrapping yourself in dirt,
And worldly evil,
You’re no longer polished and clean.
You quest after repentance,
From the Lord,
The well-wisher of His mercy.
You lower yourself,
To foresee,
The syrupy showers from the Lord,
The Almighty,
You ask for forgiveness.
You beg to be cleansed from all the grimy sins you’re plastered in,
And every time you descend yourself,
You’re always given that water from the Lord,
To become pristine.

But you never stop coming back to that faucet,
Because every time you’ve cleansed yourself,
With all the water,
And all the repentance,
You always scamper back,
Because you never seem to stop befouling your hands,
Or staying away from evil.
Jul 18 · 30
Beautifully Ugly
The mirror will shimmer,
When it sees your rapturous face and it’s graceful glimmer,
But the hearts of many will shatter.
Oh the impeccable humans,
They will shiver,
With full body quivers,
When they recognize everything you do,
And say,
To hurt someone.
Beautifully ugly.
A mirror reflects what you look like on the outside,
And your actions,
They reflect what you look like,
And who you truly are,
On the inside.
Jul 14 · 35
Striding In Solitary
Striding in solitary,
Underneath the Lions Gate Bridge,
And along the coast of the Pacific Ocean.
Back in the summer of 2016,
On a summery blue-sky August day,
Whilst silently admiring the picturesque ocean,
And the lovable sea otters,
Inducing fulfilling ripples in the water below me,
I have an urge to escape.
Halfway around Stanley Park,
I pass a thousand trees,
And couples jogging,
All whilst following,
The demons ahead of me.
I gaze at the sun,
Reflecting onto the murky green-blue sea.
I glance at the playground,
Clogged with dozens of high-spirited howling children,
Scampering through the sprinklers at the water park.
How I wish I could be those little children,
Flying freely into the water,
Their faces soaked,
And drenched,
With nothing but pure bliss.
Oh how I wish I could be a fascinating sea otter,
Adorable enough to capture the attention of everyone near the shore,
All whilst holding hands,
In a sense of sincere unity.
Even in the water,
They never let go,
Of family.
Oh how I wish I wasn’t walking in solitary.
But I wasn’t alone.
3 cousins,
Hundreds of miles in front of me,
Leaving me to walk all alone,
Behind them.
Why do you invite me,
Just to neglect my presence?
You didn’t turn around to say a single word to me.
Would’ve saved me that day.
That day I deserved to be happy,
To celebrate BC,
Our province,
Without any mental pressure,
But on that day,
I was sobbing relentlessly behind you,
While you 3 were barking of laughter ahead of me.
I could cry for eternity,
But I don’t sell my tears to earn sympathy,
To those who don’t even notice my frown.
You show no remorse,
And no acknowledgement of my discomfort.
Am I not human to you?
You didn’t even turn around to look at me.
The starry-eyed and irritably naive,
Pre-teen 12 year old girl,
With that optimistic outlook on life,
Why on earth did I think I was worthy of never ending happiness?
You crumpled my dreams,
And all of my unrealistic fantasies,
Of an ideal August day.
With your back faced at me,
You didn’t bother to turn around,
And see the tears on my face.
Nobody even spoke to me on that day,
I’m not worthy of happiness.
I was the only one that day,
Wearing a modest hijab,
And a long kameez.
On that day I wore a silky white butterfly hijab.
That hijab,
I’ll never touch again,
Tucked away in my dressing table drawer forever,
For the fear of reminding me,
Of striding in solitary.
Despite the exclusion,
You kept glaring at my kameez,
With crude eyes.
I couldn’t control the horrid feeling of alienation,
I needed to flee,
I needed an escape from it all,
So I run to the washroom.
The washroom,
My saviour,
Where I’ll cry,
All alone,
And wipe away my tears.
I’ll walk out of that washroom,
And pretend like nothing happened.
I’ll disguise my tears,
But I’ll never let you see the expression of ache on my face,
For walking miles ahead of me,
While I was alone,
I’m just a waste of space.
Whether I’m walking alone near the coast of the Pacific,
Or I’m sitting on a sofa companionless,
At a wedding in silence,
With nothing but a cushion in my hand for comfort,
No hand to hold,
Like the otter.
Staring at the ground,
Containing the waterfall behind my eyes,
While my cousins in the kitchen are cackling.
I’m just a useless waste of space,
Wherever I go.
Striding in solitary,
With tears running down my face.
Jul 13 · 38
Gandhi Glasses
For 9 years,
Age 5 to 13,
I wore Gandhi glasses.
They were rectangular,
And wire rimmed.
They were my favourite colour,
The colour of a marine freshwater fish,
They were salmon pink.
I wore them everywhere,
In company with my twin braids,
My metal mouth brimming with braces,
And my jazzy kameez.
To me,
I was beautiful.
I was truthfully my authentic self,
And that made me contented,
And so incredibly proud.
To the subjective society we live in,
I was a nerd,
And I was ugly.
To all my cousins,
And even my best friends,
My glasses made me look like an old,
Brain dead grandma.
To them,
I was old fashioned,
And to them,
I wasn’t cool enough,
Because I didn’t follow the latest trends.
The constant exclusion,
As well as the snickers about my outward image,
To all the unusually lengthy stares,
And the nonstop mistreatment,
Was what lead me to quit walking,
And drop to my knees,
Under a murky raincloud,
Showering me with plummeting self confidence.
I patiently waited each year,
For the annual eye doctor appointment,
And prayed my eyesight would drastically change,
In hopes for just one thing.
The day finally came,
When the optometrist declared,
I needed new glasses.
I was sure that on that day,
My life was going to change in the best way possible,
And I was going to be accepted in society at last,
As not an exclusive,
But just another copy.
Societal pressure had fogged my mind,
And the pitter pattering rain,
From the stormy cloud of crashing self confidence,
Was mercilessly bathing me.
I fell for all the stupid things people said to me,
Treading on the heals of popular trends,
Was like walking into a an inescapable trap,
Surrounded by poison ivy.
With my possessed mind,
I bought the trendiest glasses,
The ******* boring ones,
And I spent everyday wearing them,
And gradually,
I lost that feeling of uniqueness.
That feeling,
That set me apart from everyone else,
Had completely vanished.
I felt painfully uneasy,
And for some reason,
I didn’t have the same high regard for these new glasses,
As I did for my pink Gandhi glasses.
I felt like I was invisible,
Everywhere I went.
Bit by bit,
I began to blend into a group,
A group of people that all looked the same.
I didn’t feel like I was my own person anymore,
And most of all,
I felt empty,
All the time.
Jul 12 · 36
Fool’s Gold
The people who we thought were our blood,
And our supposed treasures,
Never to be abandoned,
Turn out to be nothing but iron pyrite,
Foolishly mistaken for gold.
It’s funny how these assigned individuals,
Who we’re tied together to so tightly by a single string,
Are meant to be family.
Hiding behind masks,
And fake personas.
The label given to people who shouldn’t mean anything to me.
But the mistake starts with mine,
I still don’t know how I was so blind.
Why were my expectations for you,
Above the clouds?
Why were they so high?
And how could I be so naive?
I sacrificed everything,
Just for you,
Because that label,
Deluded me.
I came to your home,
With a massive heart,
Jammed with all the love I’d packed,
To gift you.
You let me into your home,
And you snatched the love I garnered for you.
You waited for just the right moment,
To vanish.
Scampering to someone else’s home,
And losing all my love,
On the way there.
And when you arrived there,
You snickered,
And ridiculed me,
Leaving me empty,
And alone,
Inside of your bare home.
Why does it seem like nobody truly appreciates us?
And why does family always turn against us?
Why do you laugh at us,
For weeping,
And displaying all of our suppressed rage,
When you were the oppressor,
Our silencer,
All along?
Instead of acknowledging our outrage,
Why do you wait for us to leave,
Once we lose the courage to keep fighting,
Only to pretend to go to sleep,
And instead,
Lock yourself,
As well as everyone else,
All my cousins,
In one room together,
Pretending to sleep,
When you’re really chattering,
And snickering,
About us,
And all our hurt?
All night,
You were gossiping about us,
When we were crying ourselves to sleep in the other room.
How could you wake up that morning,
And talk to us again,
As if we were made of stone?
How can you think that your deep seated hatred could easily be disguised as family love?
Why are you talking s*,
About the expression of the unheard?
We are the unheard,
And you are our silencer.
You can’t fling us into a bottomless pit,
Then question why we’re continually sobbing,
Once we’ve desolately climbed out of the infinite trench.
For 3 and a half years,
I was walking with my eyes shut,
But now I can see again,
This cruel world,
And I can finally see what you’ve hid this whole time,
Your true character.
You made me believe that we could rely on you,
And that you’d never go against us,
But now I know,
That not all blood relations are sincere.
The truth will only come out,
Once you stop walking blindly,
And finally open your eyes,
To see the world once again,
The unfiltered world,
You were afraid to see.
At first I thought these relations,
We’re tied solely by a string of love,
But now I know these relations,
Are tied only by bitterness,
And alienation.
It’s only for the enhancement of our own lives,
That we cut the string that held us together,
Because if you can’t acknowledge the hurt,
And suppressed emotions we’ve carried all these years,
And in turn talk against us,
In the depths of the darkness,
“I hate you”,
Will put you in your place.
You threw us into an unending pit,
But we are strong fighters,
To be able to reach the light at the end,
And now we’ll put you in your place,
And throw you right into that very pit,
To where we’d felt helplessly alone,
So you can experience our pain.
Mama always told me,
God never lets go of the people that cause you extreme ache.
So take it as a sign from God,
When you’re falling into that pit,
And you regret everything you ever did.
I was at the bottom,
Of a dreary,
Bottomless pit.
I had to spiral up,
Out of the trench,
Pushing myself,
And combating,
The psychological trauma.
I was battling toppling boulders,
With nothing,
But my numb hands,
And my tense mind.
It was as if I found myself,
Once I hit the light,
At the end,
Of a bottomless pit.
I was able to see what I couldn’t see for months,
The bright light,
Of a hopeful future.
I was able to walk,
Away from that pit,
And run,
Run far away from the pit,
But not far enough.
Whenever I turn around,
To reflect on my past,
I can still see that pit.
It always reminds me,
Of how strong I am,
To be able to climb out of a dark place,
But whenever I ponder on that pit,
It will be trivial,
And small enough,
That it won’t tug me back in again.
But now,
After running miles,
I can soar.
I was once at the bottom of an infinite pit,
But now I’m flying high,
With the birds.
Jul 10 · 22
The Ghosts Of My Guilt
On a soundlessly still night,
The world of deliberate chaos,
Is lifeless,
As they’ve fallen asleep,
And their souls,
Gone to dance in the night sky.
Outside of my bedroom window,
It is a dim,
Foreign world,
With only the sparkle from the stars to illuminate the dreary night sky,
And the blinking streetlights to glisten the concrete of the side walks,
The trail for lonely wanderers.
Under a clear crescent moon,
The baby blue clock on my wall strikes 2.
I lay in bed,
Feeling nothing,
Nothing but despair.
Watching the ceiling fan spin,
With my blanket wrapped tightly around me,
To protect me,
From the monsters that lurk in the night.
I can’t fall asleep,
Like the rest of the world,
Because whenever I draw the curtains of my eyes,
I can’t hold back,
The flashbacks.
The little ghosts of my guilt,
That linger even when the curtains are drawn.
All of my mistakes,
And all of my regrets,
I will never forget.
I don’t know how to forgive myself,
For something I did yesterday,
Or years ago.
I don’t deserve what I have,
I deserve nothing.
For all the things I have done,
To hurt others,
Why should I feel content with myself,
When I know I’ve broken someone’s heart,
To bits?
The burden my heart carries kills me,
Ever so slowly.
I’ve learned to apologize,
As well as make amends,
And gift a hundred sorrys.
But what I’ve truly learned is that,
Sorry doesn’t cloak the ****** wounds.
Sorry isn’t a bandage.
And despite all of my attempts to redeem myself,
And express a truthful change,
I’ve received a thousand more exhausted sighs,
Reminding me constantly,
That everything is okay.
But only during daylight,
Am I okay,
Because during the nightfall,
I feebly sob,
These drops of gold,
Painted in the colour of a coward,
Just for you.
The lurking guilt trickles down my cheeks,
And they wash away,
With my pillowcase.
In the morning I will rise,
And pretend like nothing is bothering me.
No one will know,
Behind my cheerful eyes,
Are the ghosts of my guilt,
Waiting for the moon to appear,
And for the curtains to be drawn,
To viciously attack me.
I am constantly battling my guilt,
But I will always tell you that,
I have no regrets,
And I am fine.
Jul 8 · 18
The grace of my city,
Is unending.
From the giggling of children on bicycles in my complex,
To the tranquil suburban sidewalks fit ideally for afternoon strolls.
We don’t have many sky scraping buildings,
Massive malls,
Or buildings painted with hundreds of LED lights.
Then what makes this city so charming?
It’s all the late night Krispy Kreme runs with my family,
Of course with a long drive to thoroughly end the night,
And the walks around the peacefully picturesque neighbourhoods.
The evening strolls at Fleetwood Park,
And the family badminton tournaments outside our garage,
Under the scorching hot sun.
The glamor lies,
In the summer jogs around Bear Creek Park’s track,
And drinking Jugo Juice whenever we’d visit Guildford Mall.
There’s so much more to love about the city,
More than just the bright glare of the lights and the lofty buildings,
But all the little things that make it home,
All the beautiful things,
That bind my heart to this place,
So firmly.
But even though I live Surrey,
I’ll never side with a Surrey Jack.
All the love I have for my city,
Is endless.
What does one do when they approach the destination they so desperately craved?
Do you humbly applaud yourself,
Or do you seek the praise of others?
Will you capture your special moment?
Maybe a picture of your so beloved,
That attractive golden medal,
And scream it in the faces of your followers,
As they scroll casually through their feeds,
On social media.
Did you do it just for their slender attention,
Or did you do it because you had a fierce passion?
Is it the satisfaction you get from their cheering that lifts you from the bottom of a self confidence pit?
What were your motives,
And your intentions?
Hear me as I say,
Accomplish your big dreams with a passion.
All your exhausting effort,
And tediously long midnight hours,
It shouldn’t be done to impress,
But rather to inspire,
And motivate others to continue dreaming,
While working hard,
To accomplish what seems impossible.
Not because you desire to show the world an arrogant part of yourself,
And not because you want to be viewed as better than everyone else,
But because you had a dream worth working hard for.
Prove to them that impossible doesn’t exist.
Destroy stereotypes,
And the roles in which society permitted us.
Show them that the word impossible was only made to set limits,
And constantly remind them,
To break limits.
Don’t show them that an elevated status is the sole way to attain endless bliss,
Show them that the forbidden highway you took to drive yourself towards your dream was what made achieving a golden medal so incredible.
Show them that the journey to reach for impossible,
Is what made you appreciate the struggle,
Rather than showing them the sparkly glimmer from afar.
It’s all about your own unique journey,
Not about the prize,
Or your spectacular win.
From far away,
All one can see is the accomplishment in gold paint,
They won’t be able to see what’s behind it.
Behind that golden achievement,
Is a journey,
With miles and miles,
Of obstacles,
And barriers needed to be overcome.
All that was needed to catalyze the journey,
Was a dream.
The person behind that achievement,
Was sprinting through an unbelievable obstacle course.
Without their dream,
They couldn’t run,
Because their dream fuelled the stamina,
They needed,
In order to run.
They came across multiple boulders,
Blocking their path.
It was the tackle to overcome that barrier,
That made their journey so authentic,
And gratifying to accept,
That the achievement was nothing,
Compared to the battle,
Behind the glittery gold medal.
You took the chance,
To achieve what was known to be your impossible.
You sacrificed yourself,
Racing despite a weary soul.
At last,
Approaching that finish line,
And seeing that achievement come closer to your view,
Once through lens of gold,
Now unshielded.
With your naked eyes,
You see what you so desperately craved,
Right in front of you.
It wasn’t about ticking off that achievement on your bucket list,
It was about the journey,
And how far you had come,
From just that single dream.
It was never about the fireworks of finally attaining a once known impossible dream,
Or the golden medal you hang so proudly in your bedroom,
It was all about the perseverance,
And the solutions you made to overcome the constant struggles,
That lead you to the finish line.
Instead of looking at your destination as a sparkling golden medal or trophy,
Look at it,
As a journey,
Because there’s no value to golden medals,
But there is in the journey.
It all starts,
With a dream.
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