So I'm sitting here, right?
Thinking of something to write.
It's not going very well, if I'm honest.

Like, I can't really think of something important to say...
Poems are meant to be poignant, though, aren't they?
Something worth time and effort, like a parable, or learning how to drive.

If you're interested, it hasn't been that long,
But I underestimated my own ability to shut down at will,
To run head first into dead-ends.

What is a poem, really?
That's not rhetorical, I am genuinely confused; my default state.
How many feet do I need in a line? I only have two to spare.

And if I give them away, how do I cross the finish line?
So I'm stressing over where to put the stresses
So my head's as blank as the verse in a Shakespeare play.

So I'm losing patience quickly, like a drunk doctor,
Or some similarly silly simile-slash-simulacrum,
Simulating the deepest of sympathies for myself.

Wait...Did I just do it? Did I just write a poem?
I think I did. I mean, I probably wasted your time in the process.
Sorry about that. Really, I am. How do I finish this?

Thanks for listening!
Wait, no...
The end!
No, hold on! I can do this...
Have a nice day!

Ah, whatever. You get the point.

What makes an athlete great?

Is it the shoes or the pace
The coach or their grace
The time it takes to finish the race?
Is it the hours in the gym
The drive just to win
Or the people cheering for her or for him.
Is it the desire
That un-bottled fire
That rages and urges us faster and higher
But who bought them the shoes
Thought them not to lose
Picked them up when they were tired and bruised
Yes I crossed the line
I put in the time
But they all came together to make victory mine.

She wore a pretty smile and had the perfect eyes,
Her beauty striked every heart
Her beauty hided every scars.
No wonder her pain was just a mystery
She kept it secret like it was her history.
She transformed herself from caterpillar to butterfly
Her struggle was real, but she burried it deep inside.
There was a story behind her,
The story which was unspoken but real.
For no one should see the truth behind her life,
As she was an inspiration for all the youth alive.
Her goals were limitless,
She urged to acheive it, unless .
ALL her efforts and hardworks,
Made her shine like fireworks.
    -Aasiya shaikh

dragging wood
now at the end of a long day
an easy task

Bear with it
never Panda,
in the end
that gathers you
the sweetest honey.

But I know the things you once told me was never true.
i hadn't had the clue.
adorned words used meticulously,
and I believed them.

I am not saying I am hurt very bad.
or literally sad,
but I can't deny, it did bother me somewhere.

just a single effort you'd have made.
just a single thing you'd have said.
to rekindle what we had.
glum silence followed,
but now the wedge is crystal clear.

considered you were free of deceit,
what I found was a jigsaw instead.
and I was utterly perplexed.
this sordid affair was like a HICCUP,
Completely unexpected.

it bothered me a bit,
But believe me when I say this,
It caused no calamity.

albeit the contortion was required somewhere,

so that I may fathom
HOW SOME PEOPLE ARE SO FAMILIAR YET UNKNOWN.

A laugh bounces through the street below
Followed by that laugh's friends
A happy neighbourhood
Even this far into the evening
The sun was visiting elsewhere
Leaving a dull blue-grey
Spread over the sky.
A loop of those favourite songs we all had
Stumbles from second-hand speakers
You don't really hear them
Or rather, you don't hear them like you did
When you loved them.
This remedy-less loneliness
Is temporary
But you wouldn't know it to see it
It pulls you nowhere
And drags you into bed
It makes effort difficult
And overfills your head
With nothing it should be full of.