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Simra Sadaf May 2018
all the love you ever had for her has faded away,
all you could think about is how she burned you and reduced you down to ashes,
your soul is roaring fires of hatred with all the memories of her and how this was nothing to her but a child's play,
your nerves quiver by thinking how cheaply she sold her loyalty,
your mind feasts on infinite thoughts but you are left with only a few words to say,
you wonder how she never choked on all the malicious words that fell from her lips,
all her words and fake promises are engulfing your soul in a spit fire of hate,
all the colors around you are turning into shades of grey,
every feeling you had for her has stumbled down and shattered into a million pieces,
you feel like you are drowning, your self worth, your sanity is going astray.
Simra Sadaf Dec 2018
this is a story of a 17-something boy
who left his home, his parents,
his friends, his town with a backpack that
contained two shirts, a few dollar bills,
his diary, a pen, and his battered copy of
Love in the Time of Cholera, he fancied
himself a writer, “I write fiction”, he told
his friends who thought of him as
pretentious and pompous, the first piece
he ever wrote was a poem,
an unstructured and ill-rhymed one,
he was one of those with a pretty face,
a cheeky attitude that has given up
on god and was disdainfully aloof,
the first night away from home in
a new city, he slept in the bench of
a parking lot next to a homeless man
who stank of *****, cigarettes and
cheap whiskey, he had spent all the money
he had on train ticket and a water bottle,
the next morning, he woke up with
massive hunger pangs, at the time of
such suffering, there was only
one thing he wanted to do – he took out
his diary and wrote on hunger, despair,
and the prospect of never making it,
it was achingly poetic.
Simra Sadaf May 2018
Lately a few things have been haunting you.
You believed she was an angel who descended from heaven to make your life beautiful, but she was the demon who was slowly tightening the noose around your neck.
If only words could explain the void she has left.
You believed in her till she annihilated your existence and chewed up your whole being.
Now you are standing in the shadows of solitude, the silence deafening you, making you go crazy.
These never ending thoughts making you fall deeper and deeper into the abyss of the unknown.
The remnants of the wreckage constantly reminding you of your own foolishness and the splinters in your heart are a constant reminder of how trusting someone with every inch of your being could bring nothing but agony and suffering.
Your chest feels heavy and the burden is too much to carry.
And lately this is all you could think about.
Simra Sadaf Jun 2018
A state of illusion,

Collective consent among humans,
A puddle of emotions,
Unwise, reckless and misplaced strife,
Splintered souls are falling prey to the
Emotional stress of finding "the one",

Cautioned by risk, grief, and misery,
A poisonous addiction begins,
Losing yourself to "the one" is like
Losing yourself to vulnerability,
Every bit of you shall ruin, while
Daydreaming about a phoney,

Lying next to "the one",
Overwhelmed by your emotions,
Venomed by the feelings, while slowly
Erasing your existence.
Simra Sadaf Oct 2018
It is a voice I am trying to abandon,

Grey coloured glasses concealed my eyes
Of a condition as clear as the summer sky
That caused permanent damage to my sight,

This thrum has caged me in a mirthless setting,
Hating an existence, harming an existence,
I wonder which is for me, which is for the other,
Saving an existence, subduing an existence,

Hand in hand they go, trust and deceit,
Usurped a land only to leave it barren,
Murdered a being and nobody found it,

It is a buzz preventing me from moving ahead,
Numbing my fingers and aching my head,
Suffocating darkness is everywhere,
It is getting difficult to breathe, it is in the air,
Debunking your half-truths and all the lies,
Evoked so much grief that even the sky cries,

My mind is begging for a moment’s sanity,
Yearns for a fresh breeze, for tranquility,

Heart that is decayed now hopes to dream,
Eager eyes are waiting to gleam,
And wishes to drift into a far off galaxy,
Desires to bloom, to reach the sky valiantly.
Simra Sadaf Nov 2018
read the funniest satire, the funniest irony
the thing I most craved for is killing me

not so long ago, found myself in a different version
I was neck-deep into a writer, a ****** good one
a cliché – a cig, a drink, a *** of ink, a quill, a paper
also ******* acted for him as momentary pain eraser

‘twas the writers ball where I first saw him
the year was 1940, he looked beautiful but grim
stared at him unapologetically
but all he did was self-pity

the essence, the manners, the abyss in his eyes
every word, every action revealed a man so wise
spent all my nights deciphering every metaphor
curious about what was written on the papers he tore

I wished to reach out and say even poets ***** up
he was busy taking sips from the death cup
wrote to him asking to let me in his world
crossed my heart to keep him secure and furled

I hoped to unburden the sorrows he hid
but death reached out before my letters did
the adversity of not having said, not having heard
drove me mad like him, like him now I live in words.
Simra Sadaf May 2018
memories echo
through your whole being,
drives you insane,
misery gradually  
shatters your heart,
tears you apart,
drags your soul
to the edge of dying,
whilst yearning
for a fresh start.
Simra Sadaf Dec 2018
If only I could go with you
to the edge of the world
and follow you through all
the chaos and sufferings,
I dream of words that
describe you the best
but I fail to elucidate
your kindness in
words and metaphors,
as I watch you sleep
in profound silence,
I listen to the
rhythm of your heart,
warm and tender that
you fell in love with
a man I am to a man that was,
a drunken poet
a homeless wayfarer,
and before the sun rises,
I write to you my last poem.
Simra Sadaf Apr 2018
allow me to get lost in your eyes;
for they have all the galaxies and constellations shining in them.
Simra Sadaf Sep 2018
my eyes get heavier,
fingers numb,
and breath faster at the
rare sight of pretty death,
I hope you remember my
sensation left on the traces
of your velvet like skin,
our stargazing nights,
lazy mornings in bed,
remember me as the scent
I gave to your collarbone
of primrose and fresh air on
the night we became whole,
and remember me as all things wild.
Simra Sadaf Aug 2018
as long as my fingers know how to hold a pen,
I will write, I will write endlessly,
about the sunny days,
the sleepless nights,
my deepest thoughts,
about love in people's hearts,
crookedness in their souls,
the black and white mindset,
colours that fill a child's heart,
tongue that bleeds all kinds of lies,
lips that never twitch while making shallow promises,
hands that never tremble while sinning the gravest of sins,
soul that never shivers while slicing another's skin.
Simra Sadaf May 2018
she abandoned you
like the last stanza of
a poem unwritten.
Simra Sadaf Jul 2018
in a vigil of longing and yearning,
we are left between time and destiny,
by what might may we subdue time,
for it is leaving, it is a traitor,
by what might may we quell destiny,
for it is wicked, it is deceiving,
in lieu of longing and yearning,
a blade is plunged into our backs,
by what might may we annihilate
the torment of bad faith?
Simra Sadaf Jun 2018
poets use poetry
to narrate tales
of agony,
caused by love or
the lack there of
in various ways,
using metaphor,
oxymoron, irony,
analogy, imagery,
personification, simile,
we write about
surreal reality,
ethics and morals,
fears and misery,
spirits and souls,
lies and treachery,
we play with words
and tamper everyone's
wakeful and dormant
thoughts,
with words, we dive deep
into the cavern of
your memories,
we can write in
numerous ways,
forming stunning poetry,
magnificent prose,
with verses and lines,
ballads and sonnets,
that may or may not rhyme,
we shall write till there
are no words left to explore,
till the words stop
making sense,
until our fingers
start bleeding,
until every shop in the
world runs out of ink,
till there are no thoughts
in our heads,
till the day we meet
a lady named death.
Simra Sadaf May 2018
The truth is, the walk was so long, you forgot where it all began,
you forgot to think twice before trusting someone so blindly,
you forgot to ask questions that questioned loyalty,
you forgot to find out if the love was ever real, if it were ever present,
you forgot to question their true intentions,
you forgot to peel off the mask,
you forgot to unravel the monster hiding behind that innocent face,
you forgot to decode the real meaning behind all the sugarcoated words,
you forgot to notice if the person was ever real,
you forgot that love does not drag you to the dark pit of hollowness,
you forgot that love does not scar you,
you forgot that love does not consume you till it ruins your flesh,
you forgot that love does not drill a hole through your heart,
you forgot that love does not asphyxiate you;
the severity of all this grows every second of everyday,
making you question your own worth,
making you question if your existence ever mattered,
convincing you this darkness will last forever,
that you will never find light,
that you will never crawl out of this pit,
and I swear by God's name, there is nothing in this world that can make it better.
Simra Sadaf May 2018
Here I am
sighing woefully,
writing another bad poetry,
for someone who
has me mesmerised completely,
for someone who probably
will never read, will never care
will never notice me,
but I go on
writing another bad poetry,
for someone who
has me fallen completely,
a smile that lightens up my day entirely,
hands that could fit in mine perfectly.
Simra Sadaf Jun 2018
the dimensions of a beautiful
heart you once trusted,
has left your house haunted,
carrying the weight of a vice
and its foul play,
your shadow is weeping, hiding
under the candlelight in dismay,

your wings butchered and
cloths bear non-washable bloodstain,
you plead, "fix my lacerated wings,
for i wish to fly again"

even angels fear the kind of sadness
that leaves a soul breathless,
for it makes them commit the sin
of becoming faithless,
bury the ruffled thoughts
of grey torment in thy mind,
of this overbearing anxiety,
let your words unwind.
Simra Sadaf Sep 2018
sapphire-like pure eyes
an ocean full of sky blue -
deep, glossy and true
Simra Sadaf Jul 2018
i.
remember I mentioned
Khaled Hosseini is my favourite?
how I love every single word
he has ever written,
he believed in second chances,
he said, "there is a way to be good again"
yes, there is, it is only you that
chose not to be,
now you are as useless as unsweetened tea.

ii.
the truth is,
you were unfit,
unfit of anyone's pity,
sympathy and empathy.
the truth is,
i failed to see through you,
i failed to see the real you.

iii.
it was your birthday,
and I like to pretend you are dead,
your body is rotting, it is in decay,
can not reach out empty voids to wish
a happy birthday.

iv.
It is sad you never got a
chance to be truthful,
how you turned out
to be so unworthy,
it is sad you always had
to conceal your real identity.
Simra Sadaf Jun 2018
you let her in,
loved her from your bare skin
unto the core,
you are the only one she swore,
weighing heavily on your mind,
she was vicious, heartless and unkind,
fell for her when you
were stupid and young,
now you cling on to
every word that slipped
out of her serpent like tongue,
you opened up revealing
every scar within your soul,
oblivious that her heart
was black as coal,
she was your only
weakness and vulnerability,
her treachery killed you
almost instantly,
you grieve and ache in blues,
she smudged your heart
and left you with
an irrevocable bruise.
Simra Sadaf Jun 2018
the blackest abyss brooding,
dark and foreboding,
scarred memories sewn
into every fibre of your being.
Simra Sadaf Feb 2019
in the summer of ‘18,
death became poetry
to me and grief became
a permanent resident,
a burden – a burden
of knowing, and god
forbid if I am granted a
moment of joy, life slaps
another apocalypse at my
beautiful face, one of you
wrote to me saying I am
no one and I will die a
no one, it just shows how
broken that human is, I
hope poetry will be the
death of me because to die
a failed writer is okay, but
to die a broken human is not.
Simra Sadaf May 2018
your burning soul
scorched a hole
in my heart.
Simra Sadaf Jun 2018
little bird locked
           in a cage,
     with broken promises
            flowing from
                          her wrist,
                waiting for her nerves
                           to untwist,
                    she
                          wants
                                 to fly,
                             f  l  y
                                a
                              w
                                a
                                  y
                                   .
                                  .
                                 .
Simra Sadaf Jun 2018
she is an undeniable calm amidst chaos,
a lone rose of the wild,
a strange serenity in a calamity,
her words are like sugar,
sweetness you crave for,
she is like the air,
you can not hold it in your hand,
but it is everywhere,
she is a walking beauty,
the sun's rays gleams on her cheekbones,
her perfume smells like innocence,
of beauty she is the quintessence,
as long as you have her,
your heart could never be empty,
with gorgeousness through and through,
she is flawed in all the right places,
freckles like constellations across her face,
forming Cassiopeia, queen of vanity,
how perfectly fitting.
Simra Sadaf Dec 2018
I woke up in the
middle of the night
and felt a certain
kind of nothingness,
my wife soundlessly
asleep next to me,
I tiptoed my way out
of the house,
before I knew it I
was in my car turning
on the ignition,
in a desperate attempt
to escape from this life (read lie)
I reached the hotel room,
it was cold and quiet,
my lover sat across from
me smiling, a gentle gesture
that enclosed me,
as I drove back home,
my skin reeked of infidelity
and the smell of his cologne,
it lingered.
Simra Sadaf Dec 2018
I was loathed by my family, so I
killed them all, I know it sounds
like a Gillian Flynn novel, but it
is true, I murdered them one by
one, it was on a Thursday night,
my step-mother was fasting in the
name of God she believed in, she
was making dinner, she hated the
fact that I had joined a cult, she
hated my tattoos, she hated my guts,
and I hated her for lacking a heart,
I went into the kitchen, took out the
chef’s knife and stabbed her, I did
the same to my father, he was in his
study table, I stabbed him, and I
severed his ear like Van Gogh, for
every slap, scold and bruise, except I
did not give it to a *******; I kept it
in a jar like a specimen, my six year old
step-brother was sleeping in his room,
I choked him with his pillow, I hated
that runt; he was poisoning me with just
his existence, satan spoke to me the day
my heart turned into a rebellion, now he
seems to ignore me, the body of my
step-mother lying in the kitchen floor
with eyes wide open glares at me; it
burns my skin, I splashed water on it
but the burning does not stop. Satan, I
can hear you laughing, you sadist rogue.
Simra Sadaf Aug 2018
when you would finally find yourself standing on my doorstep,
my neighbours will let you know,
that the poet has long left,
the splendid grandeur of my being
confounds me not anymore,
alone I wander across the roads,
my only companion are these words,
writing about our union in the afterlife,
I roam around these streets with
my heart in hand,
my soul dwells, somewhere in the void,
in the end, it will find its way you,
to breathe my last,
to finally know what it feels like to breathe,
to die in your arms,
to embrace new beginnings,
for I am a poet,
we live for dramatic endings.
Simra Sadaf Apr 2018
God created everything but there wasn't anything that signified internal beauty.
Hence the creation of WOMEN.
Simra Sadaf Oct 2018
my legs took me to a sandy shoreline
in a cold beach where I sat and wept
the spaces between my ribs ache
due to blistering darkness
and aching apartness
that left an abyss
and gave birth to
poethood
of vain
words
and
stained lines
that brought hopes
of starting fresh
but time and again
a small crevice brings back
dead dreams and decayed deceit
screaming to be avenged the way
Heathcliff takes his vengeance until
he drops his will and resolves to let go.
Simra Sadaf Jun 2018
Denying acceptance, support and love,
force is the only weapon he chose,
his inner demon got unleashed,
a punch destroyed her credence,
his abuse scarred her skin,
she's locked in a cage,
purple lesions,
broken ribs,
bruises,
wounds.
Run,
escape,
leave that filth,
this is not love,
you are not alone,
you do not deserve this,
pick up the remains of you,
open the door to happiness,
you are strong enough to breathe again,
and learn to see beyond the grief and pain.
Simra Sadaf Apr 2018
Never drown yourself in the same river twice.
Simra Sadaf May 2018
grief
ebbs and flows
like an ocean tide,
she was standing on the shore
the waves ****** her in,
and she drowned.
Simra Sadaf May 2018
the first time he held her hand,
he wished for it to last an eternity,
somewhere far away,
a magpie sang a song joyful and lovely.
Simra Sadaf May 2018
sitting on the damp grass
under the shimmering sun,
talking for hours on end,
you whisper in my ear
all your fears,
dreams and feelings,
our hearts beating
to the same rhythm,
i found my euphoria.
Simra Sadaf May 2018
eyes
as blue
as deep
as the sea,
you knew how to swim,
but liked the idea of drowning.
Simra Sadaf May 2018
her voice
like a finely tuned violin,
you let in sink in,
and touch every string
of your soul.
Simra Sadaf Apr 2018
in a cafe on this beautiful evening
i can hear the birds chirping,
we are sitting in our table
i notice your eyes are hazel,
your subtle ways of flirting
a moment i had been dreaming,
your eyes gazing at me tender
would you fall for me, i wonder.
Simra Sadaf Oct 2018
drenched in the colours
of sunlight ombré
your soul burns
so incandescently
that it could have
saved Prometheus
from the wrath of Zeus.
Simra Sadaf Nov 2018
pardon me, my memory is blurred
do not scrutinise my every word
it was late in the night
a memory in black and white

the house was quiet
neighbourhood silent
only my mumbling could be heard
and my speech was slurred

I saw shadows drifting
my telephone began ringing
when rushed to attend the call
I do not have a telephone I recalled

peeked at the reflection in the shelf
to my horror, I saw me chasing myself
looked at myself in the mirror
saw a ghostly ghoul getting closer

ran to my bedroom and bolted the door
from all the crying, my eyes were sore
wondered if this was a dream or was I dead
I turned around to find myself lying in the bed

a one-eyed monster devoured my flesh and blood
I screamed until on the door there was a thud
petrified I hid under the bed feeling trapped
sensed a hand on my neck, my neck was snapped

I opened my eyes and I was a part of the crew
it is now time, we are coming to get you.
Simra Sadaf Jan 2019
for the wounds we keep poking
hearts that do not stop breaking
for the fools who refuse to learn
the loved ones living in an urn

for all the love and unsaid sacrifices
a mother’s love and her compromises
for bedtime stories and goodnight kisses
a father’s story from rags to riches

for a glimpse that made you fall
the same that made you love alcohol
for all the dreams that are unfulfilled
the innocent victims of war who get killed

for all the seasons that we live through
the sun, the moon and the dove’s coo
for the sands, stones and the oceans
every unsaid word and unfelt emotions

for white, pink and all the colours
music, books, poems and flowers
for everything great and trivial
a poem for everyone sad and jovial

for things living and non-living
for loving, giving and forgiving.
Simra Sadaf May 2018
her beauty
enslaved your heart,
freckles on her face
like an imperfectly perfect art,
your fingers wander
across her velvet like skin,
her grace, her wisdom,
helping you fight your sins,
sunlight beams
through her hair,
touching your heart and soul
her laughter floats in the air.
Simra Sadaf Oct 2018
ghosts, monsters in my head
a body has been found dead
the news caught like fire in the town
they think it is Pennywise the clown

a man so ruthlessly butchered
a question still hangs
why was he murdered?

so many suspects, so many faces
this is one of those rare cases
his intestines inside out, bones shattered
blood all over the house scattered

“REDЯUM” written on a wall
a thought hits one and all
Oh my God! it is Jack Torrance
but he froze to death, what non-sense!

another day, another ******
now they suspect Jack the Ripper
the woman drowned in her bath tub
the ashtray was full of cigarette stubs

he dances around and sings a song
enjoying all the things he has done wrong
still out at large is the killer
nobody suspected the friendly Casper.
Simra Sadaf Sep 2018
betrayal is an odd emotion,
masked by altruism,
kissed by Judas,
it makes a home inside
your neurones,
resides there like
it owns the body,
forces you to abandon
every bit of rationality,
slithers into your ears
and hisses in a nerve-racking
voice like Voldemort’s,
“you are not enough
  you are not enough.”
Simra Sadaf Jun 2019
how silent it is, how still,
like the nights in my town,
what do I say, what do I fear,
is this town grieving, it is,
so is this poem, so is that man.

descending to Hades,
my anxiety is a mourning widow,
why do paper cuts hurt so much,
why are the lilies decaying,
“get some sleep”, says my mother.
Simra Sadaf Apr 2018
a vast endless spool of grief
they lied
time does not bring relief
Simra Sadaf Apr 2018
in this vast universe
you are contributing your verse,
you can move heaven and earth
stop questioning your worth.
Here's some motivation if you're feeling down.
Simra Sadaf Apr 2018
her gaze seeping into your soul;
an unfathomable love
creeps into your heart
and stays there.
Simra Sadaf Apr 2018
after he was dead
his ghost came to visit her
impassive and emotionless
he sat in front of her
begging to be noticed
whispering apologies
it was futile and in vain
cause she buried him in her mind
and left him to rot there.
Simra Sadaf Jun 2018
your home is built and
constructed in the shape
of her arms,
your home is in her
voice when she
whispers your name,
your home is in her
vanilla scented fragrance,
your home is in her touch
that fills you with warmth,
your home is in her honey
glazed eyes and the way
they light up when
she looks at you,
your home is in her
giggles and laughter,
your home is in her
perfect smile,
your home is in her fingers
when they intertwine
with yours,
your home is in the way
she leans on your shoulder,
your home is in the way
she ruffles your hair,
your home is in the way she
rests her head on your chest,
your home is in every beat
of her heart,
she is your solace,
she is your home.
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