IF POEMS WERE SHAPES...

If poems were shapes, mine would be

if poems were shapes mine would be a circle

chock-full with metaphors of love and hope,

eulogies charged with tales of inspiration 

and a simile hampered of kind souls. 

if poems were shapes mine would be a square

where every line and word will be equal 

omitting the society's gender sequel. 

cleaning up all the talk games and volumes 

consisting of so many antithetic costumes. 

if poems were shapes mine would be a rectangle

where the length of virtuous attributes can 

overtake the width of vicious quirk to 

rebuild relationships again which were 

gone astray in some reign.

if poems were shapes mine would be a triangle

where every angle will outspread light pampered 

with positive rays of ardency and heed so layered. 

and if i unite all the shapes on a plain paper 

where each shape cobble up their beauty of

positivity, honesty and compatibility 

there would be no room left 

for insecurities in hostility.

Ayesha Khalid 

NIGHTMARES DON'T SCARE ME ANYMORE

Nightmares don't scare me anymore

Nightmares don't scare me anymore

as the folks in the vicinity petrify 

me at every door. Now gloomy creation of the brains 

are a hill of beans for me to make my teeth chatter 

because I have been feasted upon with some deadly 

phase in daylight served in a platter. 

Nightmares don't scare me anymore, 

because in the light part of 24 hours when those

metacarpus lay fingers on my mortal parts to 

fill the bill of their pitiless wish,

horrified illusions had shifted it's epoch 

from dusk to dawn. 

Nightmares don't scare me anymore because 

those healthy altercations of blame, 

are so poisonous that those tear glands can't freeze itself

And they die and burst at any unspecified moment of the day. 

Because those pronouncements don't terrorize me anymore

only in dark hours upsetting my mental health, but daytime is equal in passing out some words of wealth. 

Nightmares don't scare me anymore

Because now your linguistic form and sweet stunts

have made me staunch and courageous

to face all the stroke of bad luck and blame,

and clear them with positivity running in my vein

during the day with no shame. 

So that I can take forty winks with peace,

under the twinkling stars, clear skies 

and the luminous moon and whistle a different tune. 

Ayesha Khalid

BROKEN MELODIES

Broken Melodies

I still brood over each day from dusk to dawn when clans in the castle bloomed with tenderness, the turn of phrase they mumbled to each other were puffed with melody of sweet verse, every word they whispered have tied them in a melodious knot like the golden oldie is plugged into us with melody so peaceful and calm. The gesture had some admirable flow of melody because of the love it is locked up with, which at no time gave the green light to evil cards to rupture the melodious tune. All those sweet, inspiring, pleasant verses are safe in my heart which elicited a smile on my broken face when they pronounced heartbreaking melodies of rudeness and selfishness like a toxic ray of unhappiness on top eradicating every blood cell filtered with melody of hope. I try to reframe the tune composing all the beautiful things that imprints every heart and soul with the melody of ecstasy again, which will tack on every broken melodious dot and make the abode jubilant home again.

~Ayesha Khalid

DOORS.

DOORS. 

They are some pretty beautiful souls

who are so caring and gentle 

and polite and cute,

and who tune songs of love and hope.

They are some sweet sour creatures

who act like a bandage to my soul,

giving me so many black holes.

They have a small treasure trove 

from which they shower me a blessing

of unwanted hopes, they have a 

wishlist underwired in a box full 

of poison and malignant phrases 

and idioms of their own.

Still,

they knock the doors while having

the damn keys, pretending to be 

cool, super cool, good and the best,

and pry into me if i am fine, 

with so much fakeness 

charged concern in line. 

They hunt for the answer, 

Why are you sick at heart?

And they put forth a beautiful strife that

"Happiness is the key to life."

I break the silence that, 

The key of Happiness is with you.

Why you knock my door which you have

puffed up with so many bad rays of hope.

They knock my door with

a beautiful starter put in good shape with 

1% care and 

a 99% full course meal 

plated with cuisines of variant

tastes and types,

which is very sweet and sour 

of its own kind.

Leaving me all dead, to go down the line

and gobble up every bite from that plate

full of undesirable plight.

Ayesha Khalid

GIVE AND TAKE, IS THAT SO?

GIVE AND TAKE

Not a preach, neither a philosophy, just a note which you can give any other name. Because I am scribbling these lines just because it is somewhere stored in the membrane of my brain which I want to pour into your heart and mind too and maybe it will affect one percent of your inner soul. 

So kindness, love and care what it means to you. Maybe a cupcake of any relationship is replete with these toppings. So if we bake that cupcake with every topping gently and smoothly it will roll in unblemished. But when it turns out to be imperfect with that addition of selfishness, hatred and ego, the cupcake looks incongruous with unhealthy stuffing which may muddle your stomach so like your life..

But one can save the disapprobation right? I know this thing might pop up in your mind that, why to steamroll yourself for any relationship like this, there are people who will love you equally. But do you think equality is everything which exists in this cosmos. What if you are giving so much love and care to that one person, and what if you are talking with so much sweetness and kindness with that person. You expect the same thing, right? So we call it give and take. Because obviously everything in this world runs on give and take ship and we are the captains sailing it.

But the toppings I mentioned are emotions and feelings. Is it imperative to give it a silhouette of the harsh reality of business for life. I know it will counterfeit us when the other person is not giving us the same love and care. It will knock off us in so much pain, but if we start this not expecting mission it will at no time leave us down in the dump. I know it is hard, so very hard. But we can try. 

Let it be one side, you care, you give so much love, and you talk with politeness and kindness, all this will make you happy. If someone smiles because of you it will make you smile too. Don't let that art of love die within you. Don't fill yourself with hatred because of someone. Give as much as you can, expect little less, because you will get what you are destined too. But don't forget yourself in order to make that cupcake perfect. 

Ayesha Khalid

Sunshine, skies and you

Sunshine, skies and you. 

I clutch this sunshine in my hands today

knowing that dreams evanese into gray.

I'm scribbling for a sonnet here in ecstasy

about the world beyond our enemies.

I still wonder where I ought to be,

Will you lead me to my smashed dreams?

Won't let anything breach this levee

Cause all we will do is live by sea.

Soar me high to these skies

it is gravity that we will defy,

we will live in the wooden house

no matter how small it is. 

Blue skies in my eyes 

with this ever gleaming sunshine,

I need no thing, but you

captured in the polaroid

cause you are all my.  

Summer is when you chant a lullaby,

My head on your lap, your love I can't deny.

To find this incessant light, I'd forever roam

Away and away from you, 

never far away from home.

Ayesha Khalid

Let each other go

Let each other go.

Just when all the words would protract.

You caught me by your mouth, 

Is it cause you are so wheels within wheels 

that I'm dense

Or is it the other way around?

 

Now I'm grounded that one day you’re to fly away, 

If my love ever culminate, only my god would know when, 

And until you retrace step I'll be holding everything 

for that very day

But I opine, we might at no time draw breath

to foregather again. 

 

You don't need to be with one accord to be in love, 

And here we are in this city lit with fireflies. 

And I ever wonder, will your gaze ever be enough

Cause your words are unerring but your eyes never lie.

Cause If I cast away in the ashes of time, 

I'd fence the world and make you mine

Dance in the middle of the night is all we'd do,

If I had one thing to say

I'd say, please stay forever and a day, 

And the love I have is all that I’d give to you. 

 

But my time with you is slowly turning to the coldest night, 

And it's not possible to keep mending a broken heart. 

But it is a bright day that creeps through the darkest night, 

But this way of loving someone, it just hurts like a dart. 

 

Maybe now the hardest thing and the right thing are the same, 

And It's only when you cry that it starts to rain or snow. 

For the love we once shared, I don't rock the boat as 

it cannot be the same

Because in the end we are destined to let each other go.

Because in the end we are destined to let each other go.

Ayesha Khalid 

Garden of Shadows.

My garden of shadows 

is a blessing filled room

with zillions of totally unharmed verdant trees 

and sweet and decorative flowers of various genus 

which showers my life with old and generous love, 

It has two well-founded tall ancestral trees who shotgun 

me from every malefic sin, and they are my guardian, 

the auspicious blessing from God;

I have some superfluous but blooming flowers 

which glorify my life with euphoria with the sort 

of madness of love, and I have dubbed them 

as my kinfolk so dumb, 

It is environ with all friendly courteous cactus and roses, 

which blow up my life with a pinch of some sweet sour berries. 

The pages of my book are filled to the brim 

with the garden of shadows who harbor me 

when I fall down going through some malicious repute, 

which make mincemeat of my roots, 

tearing my pages, and decamping my heart 

and soul as a vetoed fruit. 

Ayesha Khalid

Be the braille to my blind

Be the braille to my blind

Be the braille to my blind, and teach me about the colours that this nature is titled with, teach me how that wild blue yonder refine its colour from dusk to dawn, teach me how the sun is so five-star at the day time showering us with light so glistening, and how moon is so charming at nightfall sheathing us with its love so deep and intense. 

Be the braille to my blind, and teach me how I carried off my first step, how many times I have fallen down and then rolled out and how I started walking without any flaw( with that protective stick of my life), teach me how I ate my first bite and what kind of visage I made on my beautiful site. 

Be the braille to my blind, and teach me how that human meddled me to sit on his lap, everytime he punched the clock at my home after a gap, teach me how he has taken oath for gifting me chocolates, just to run hands over my biological clock beautified in the womb after an age, teach me how I ring the blues taking forty winks on the floor of the toilet, and how I enumerated the sore on my bag of bones which he gave me, teach me how to fight with all these, applying some healthy cheese. 

Be the braille to my blind, and teach me not only about the colors of the nature, teach me about the colors that is locked up in the body of every people on the street;

so that I can scrape together some remedy, to serve them with my melody, so that the evilness they disembody, and fill my dark life with the colours of words, so like the hummingbird. 

Ayesha Khalid

Heartbreak is my muse

Heartbreak is my muse

Heartbreak is my muse

that helps me augment more

after I am abused, when

I give ears to all those

sweet idioms and metaphors

which I used in my poetry 

as a petals of rose

abstained with antithetic

colors I owned. 

Heartbreak is my muse

that helps me learn 

how to take a new turn, 

when i brush against breed

of people on the street

who are just like some

sweet sour treat, who

often shake the dust

from my feet. 

Heartbreak is my muse

just like old is gold, is

the proverb used, on

every art I induced. 

which is an afflatus 

to be disabused. 

Heartbreak is my muse

which you can't wear and

walk a mile in my shoes, 

because you are the one

who have gifted me this in 

the form of my favorite fun;

which have unceasingly 

tightened my screws, leaving 

me with so much residues, 

in a lane and building castles 

of pain in my vein. 

Ayesha Khalid

DEADLY STINGS.

The days were filled with lively mornings when the American Robbins voice, and the blooming smell of Hyacinth of antithetic colors used to spellbind my mind with peace. The sea surf of Sunset Beach when kisses me, used to escalate tranquility in my soul. The Gulmohar in the Garden was the personification of the sheer beauty for my abode. But when you breezed in, in my life as sweet cherries, inherited with some underwire Cyanogenic elements, which engulfed the good cheers of my life slowly and slowly. Those stings of agony were not that grievous than the fire ants stings but it was loaded with the sweetness of Yellow star fruit. You punched the clock into my life as a volcano, which erupted lava of dreadful shuck and jive, now and then, being so level-headed at the same time. And now when you have reeled back after ages through this long distance call, the truth has started flowing out from my heart which you imprinted on me, the voice which my heart yells out, is only one that I am so used to deadly stings, your lively honey hurts my tongue. 

Ayesha Khalid

The wind sings to me.

The wind sings to me. 

The wind sings to me 

the lullaby of the things 

with feathers that you have 

to be tenacious even if you 

are punched with so many 

reproaches of being a man who

shed tears. Even they blow 

whistle on you bringing into

existence some unwanted 

frames that all men 

are the same. 

The wind sings to me 

that you have to be an 

omnipotent so that 

when that arm-twist verse

provoke your mental health,

and back out you insane 

imprinting so many names. 

The wind sings to me

that you have to show 

veneration and heed, and 

it's not an encumbrance 

that you follow patriarchy 

because it's some kind

of elder's need. 

The wind sings to me

that don't show 

a hostile behavior at 

any point of time, 

be placid like the sunrise 

and sunset and 

equate everyone and 

everything like a joint. 

The wind sings to me

that don't lay hold of so much 

coercion which they 

lavish upon you with so 

many blessings looped 

along, unburden yourself and 

exhale that choke out, 

because till the hell freezes over 

there is someone who 

get the picture of 

your every doubt. 

The wind sings to me

that don't be shamefaced 

of anything at all,

dissolve in tears as much as you yearn to

be a devil-may-care at times, 

and turn thumbs down when 

it comes to taking hold of all rights. 

relive your marked wish list

which you have coined from

 so long dreaming about it 

day and night. Show courtesy 

to everyone who loved your soul, 

and give a snappy comeback 

to all those evil cards who 

damned it, by the politeness 

which you have owned. 

The wind sings to me 

be a man who is puffed up 

with love and hope. 

so that the civilians, don't

ravage you with their daily soap. 

Ayesha Khalid

SINGING IN THE RAIN.

 Singing in the rain. 

I am singing in the rain

with the splash of those 

fresh sprinkles on my 

bag of the bones which was 

facing so much of strain

given by the very own home. 

I am singing in the rain

along with those blooming

flowers which was leftover 

all anhydrous and inanimate

as it was not showered with the 

fragrance of ardency and heed

from a decade. 

I am singing in the rain

along with those peacocks

who are moving feet and 

body to music in the 

mesmerizing range, who

were left high and dry all caged;

when the rain signed off from 

showering its generosity

with so much sudden change. 

I am singing in the rain

along with those 

rivers and lakes, 

which was portsided barren 

since age, biting the dust with 

thirst like my soul, which you

bandaged with your savage. 

Now, 

I am singing in the rain

simultaneously with those 

chirping birds and dancing trees

with paradise running

in my veins. 

because now i am off the hook

from that stinging cage, 

where i was clutched since

age kissing the genus of change. 

Ayesha Khalid

I paint myself in the colors of the sky

I paint myself in colours of the sky

I paint myself in colours of the sky

in the interim of daytime and the nightfall

all scrambled up with sun, moon, stars, 

constellations, clouds, planets and rainbows;

all bewitching and ensorcell to adore

with some pinch of smog and light 

of dirt to maintain its glamour so calm. 

I paint myself in the colours of the sky

where the stars, sun and the moon

will highlight my blemish and which 

will shimmer so deep in range, 

and the constellations will lighten up

my heart and soul with amorousness 

which is gone astray, the planet will 

elucidate the features implanted in me, 

with truth and loyalty keeping in mind. 

I am puffed up with so many colours of 

ardency, and sheathed over with cotton 

balls so soft and sedate. 

I paint myself in the colours of the sky

rather than the colours of human race

which is so onerous to adore. The colours

of animosity, twinge, falsehood, cunningness, 

brutality and many more on the bulletin to 

count. So if I start painting myself with the

colours they own, the colours of sky will

fall to keep its fame, overpowered by the one

which has no specific name. 

So,

I paint myself in the colours of the sky

far away from the cosmos, where love is 

moving towards the category of extinct 

so like a speedball. 

I paint myself in the colours of the sky

so that I can breathe some fresh air,

after I rest in peace saying goodbye. 

Ayesha Khalid

My Soul is an empty bookshelf

My soul is an empty bookshelf

My soul is an empty bookshelf

puffed up with lonesomeness, when 

you left me high and dry with me and my 

shadow in this bloodthirsty cosmos in order 

to jerry-build your very own. 

My soul is an empty bookshelf

touched down with conjecture

which you wreaked havoc on, when you 

aforesaid this is in a loud note, 'i am 

far away to frame my world'. 

My soul is an empty bookshelf

blocked with falsity because

you have spirited away the veracity

infiltrating it with so many tales of 

lies to draw breath together. 

My soul is an empty bookshelf

heaped with desolation, because 

the vivacity I gave you, placing 

trust in you more at every point. 

My soul is an empty bookshelf

spruced with the anamnesis of

duplicity, which I waded through 

when the blooming ecstasy was 

ceased to exist within me each 

ephemeral day. 

Ayesha Khalid

If Seven Wonders of The World could talk....

If Seven Wonders of the World could talk

Great Wall of China (China)

The endlessness of my wall is in a lower degree than the walls some of you have given birth to for the human races in this epoch. 

Christ the Redeemer Statue (Rio de Janeiro)

If I can be cobbled up with so much intestinal fortitude and no catastrophe, why can't you draw on your life smoothly with mirthfulness unceasingly. 

Machu Picchu (Peru)

If I can be diagnosticated again after ages why can't you scare up yourself when you are nowhere to be found. 

Chichen Itza (Yucatan Peninsula, Mexico)

If I can be bequeathed with all the qualities, why can't you mold yourself capable to grapple some of the best qualities. 

The Roman Colosseum (Rome)

If I can be the most enduring icon after flying in face of so many issues and which extirpated my bloom, why can't you reel back to draw breath again and glimmer like a star brushing all the hurdles away. 

The Taj Mahal( Agra, India) 

I am hammered out as an epitome of love, why can't you frame your love life with entrustment, heed and understanding. 

Petra(Jordan) 

Named by a scholar as 'rose red city as old as time'. If I can gleam being the primeval, why can't you. Don't pauperize your ecstasy if you can't adjust to the new world, become rarefied and keep walking on air. 

Ayesha Khalid

SUN DUST

SUN-DUST

You are the brightest star of my entity

glimmering the scintillant of love, 

galored with so much heed and homage, 

assenting to a sheer elegance of Disko Bay

and being mysterious in its own kind. 

The lexemes you enunciate

showers me from tip to toe

carving out over my timidity

like the milky way scabbard

the wild blue yonder with stars

so magnificent and glittering 

to venerate. 

You are that sun

locked up with that halcyon sun-dust, 

puffed up with the beauty of Bleeding-heart

a rarefied and unparagoned to be found, 

Like the endless stretch of Lavender

across the Provence, which amplify 

the beauty of charismatic smell it owns, 

You fold me with the your

sweet smell of sun-dust, which 

mold me the prettiest of all. 

I am prerogative enough

that your sun-dust is brushed 

over my soul, 

like the flowers are unfurled in 

the City of Gardens to glow. 

Ayesha Khalid

To Badruddin Jamaluddin Kazi

To Badruddin Jamaluddin Kazi 

Notable to many as Johnny Walker you have been an inflatus for multitudinous human races of the cosmos. The humankind who have catched a glimpse of you onscreen were the most prerogative one who felt your art which you have made known to them in the form of comedy. You were the illustrious of the comedy world. 

You were such a lovely soul that whenever you used to punch the clock on the screen, people started to roll in the aisles with a jubilant heart. Your actions brought that harbor smile on each one's face. Your noteworthy dialogues are still summoned into the mind. The movies such as 'Naya Daur', 'Taxi Driver', 'Madhumati' etc in which you brought down the house, have left the imprint of your hundred-proof dramatization. You are no more with us but your dialogues are still zoetic and it will at no time vanish away from our heart. 

The present generation have not acquaintanced that art behind your comedy. You were a festive spirit ruling everyone's mind, until you waved a final goodbye in 2003. Your artistic expressions brought that smile on each frame which still flows in the veins of zillions of souls. You are, and will always be known by heart. 

From 

A fan who admired your art of comedy. 

Ayesha Khalid

The weight of Glitter

The weight of Glitter

That resplendent adoration of the dark

transpose the weight of glitter so less

like the weight of the river when puffed up 

with debris hooking up with its own texture, 

and vanishing away the originality and 

the beauty of the flow like my life. 

The weight of glitter is so subordinate as 

you have inherited my heart with 

so much pinch of dirt, which can only be 

disencumbered after going through so 

many surgeries jam-packed with 

so much trauma and pain. 

The weight of glitter is diminished

as you nigh sided me with patches and cuts

which deliquesce my soul inch by inch

like a candle evanesce losing its flame. 

I beseech, 

reel back the weight of glitter

which you have purloined with

your fancy footwork. 

I want the weight of glitter to be

as enticingly ponderous

as the pearly gates of paradise

embellished with Northern light of Arctic 

all around, amalgamated with the galaxies

of the love and bloom, 

with the light of

stars and the moon. 

Ayesha Khalid

Since you touched me, I became a walking typewriter

Since you touched me, I became a walking typewriter

Since you touched me, 

I became a walking typewriter

brimmed over with so much laceration, 

that i will not even feel the crick 

even if Inland Taipan comes and 

kisses me with its venom packed 

with taipoxin. 

Since you touched me, 

I became a walking typewriter

pervaded with so many imprints of yours, 

that even i get a tattoo in the dermis 

layer of my skin, it will not say goodbye

to my skeleton an inch. 

Since you touched me,

I became a walking typewriter

as you murdered my pride with 

those killing hands, which i glom onto

enshrouding the black holes of this cosmos. 

Since you touched me,

I became a walking typewriter

as you bowled over my life 

with those charming smile 

which turned out to be malignant

like a cyanide. 

Since you touched me,

I became a walking typewriter

as you left me insane 

by your sweet morphemes of twinge, 

that even mental asylum have no 

therapeutic for the trauma which 

I have gained. 

Since you touched me, 

i became a walking typewriter 

puffed up with scars and depression, 

that will at no time be cured even if 

i rest in peace enclosed in the pillars 

of transparent crystal instead of coffins 

of the Macrobian Ethiopians race.

Since you touched me,

I became a walking typewriter, 

whose life is transmuted into a doom

when painted by the unwanted love 

given by a beauteous devil gloom. 

Ayesha Khalid

My words are shadows in a world with no light

My words are shadows in a world with no light

My words are as splendid and gleaming

as Cappadocia in Turkey, which imperturbate

and chills down every soul with its winsomeness. 

My words are so consolatory as the rushing

water in the Waterfalls in Antalya. 

The beauteous natural history mesmerizes 

each recesses of heart deeply. 

My words are much the same like

bulbous flowers of Turkey, 

which is a gratuity to many souls 

sparring match in the dark. 

My words are like Raki, whose 

taste and touch you will at no time

give the brush to, once you inhale it with purity. 

My words are like the pigeons 

in the Pigeons Valley, might sound 

absurd but puffed up with care and tenderness. 

My words are similar to the piping ups 

of Turkish coffee, weaker they make the scene

but have fathomage in each sip you hear. 

My words are similar to the Blue Lagoon 

in Oludeniz, having a feature left untouched 

by you, that is striking and swarming with life. 

So pay a visit to my beauty of words, 

and don't pronounce sentence by 

having a look at the 

outer space it has been 

renamed with, 

because, 

my words are shadows in a world

with no light. 

Ayesha Khalid

The Siren Song

The Siren Song

i weave the beauty in the

world of Adam and Eve, 

so that i can draw breathe at 

the better place with peace

they say your verse of the

siren's song are like a malediction 

even if i sing with a tender heart,

as if they are recalibrating 

some verse of their siren's song, 

they play back the verse in the

repetitive manner, which is more

like a snake bite

even if my verse are the composed 

of wisdom, they name it as a lava

promulgated from an active volcano

in Hawaii. they say your verse crunches 

the soul as the Anaconda make mincemeat

of the parts of the body he owns. 

they say your verse are like parasites, 

which engulf a living soul's tranquility 

slowly and with pride. 

they say your verse will at no time will

heap upon gaiety, it will only snatch 

away smiles

i ask, 

are your verse of the siren's song

dazzling like the orchid grown in the

north eastern states of our country, 

are your verse soothing and calm

like the rainbow in the wild blue yonder, 

are your verse have a reflection

of an epitome of winsomeness. no

yours verse are more poisonous

than the poisonous ivy,

they are more piercing than the

burning sting of fire ants, they are

those verse of the siren's song

which not only take away ecstasy

but put to death one mirthful living soul

inch by inch from inside

Ayesha Khalid

Petals have hurt more hearts than thorns

Petals have hurt more hearts than thorns

i know by heart that day from dusk to dawn, when i 

was in the sweet, historic and ethical city of Udaipur 

for the holy matrimony. the kith and the kin were on 

seventh heaven as they scored an Olympic

medal. i was terror stricken like a deadly horror 

night but the butterflies didn't freedom my 

stomach until a knot was tied. the smell of 

those delicacies were soothing my soul as if 

i was kissing my love taking rest below Eiffel 

tower like a passion with flow. 

oh! my pipe dream was pumped up with so much 

conjecture of pearly gates. but those smells

of roses and vines were like your first touch which 

shivered me down the spine. i was engaged in 

those opulent ornaments, which were all mine. 

from top to toe i was a beautiful bride spruced

up in red velvet lehenga choli with the embroidery 

of gold threads of resham which was of your 

choice. on the head i was decorated with the 

jhoomar, whose weary load was so less than a 

dead-weight my heart experienced that night. 

my neck was tied with chokar, whose string is 

unceasingly with you. 

the chandbalis have that half crescent moon 

which don't have a natural glimmer like my life. 

those heavy kadas were not a thing more than 

a handcuffs for me, till the hell freezes over whose 

keys will be safe with you. the payal was acting as 

a hindrance which brick wall for me from fleeing 

away from your life. for you i was beautiful bride, 

but you stole my beauteous angelic charm giving 

your ornaments of curse. 

but that day i was lost in those smells of flowers

of love and excitement of getting hitched with 

someone so handsome like a king and it was like

a dream transpiring true. but that dead of night 

in Udaipur in our sweet couple room you made me 

brush up on one thing by heart that petals have hurt 

more hearts than thorns, your handsomeness was 

nowhere to be found in that room, as you brutally 

imprinted your kiss on my soul below the moon. 

Ayesha Khalid

If I were asked to paint a picture of heaven.

If I were asked to paint a picture of heaven

If I were asked to paint a picture of heaven

I would paint it redesigning the Alpine peaks of 

Switzerland and Italy at the top, with Ganges

flowing from the mid, shaping up meanders and

oxbow lake molding it as an art. 

If I were asked to paint a picture of heaven

I would paint you and me giving our feet some rest 

beside the Lake Lucerne having sweet cherries 

and blueberries, unredeemed in the freshwaters 

tranquil and breeze. 

If I were asked to paint a picture of heaven

I would paint it fudging together The Dark 

Hedges of Ireland and will add finishing touches 

to the place fenced with Roses, Tulips and Lilies, 

so that we will be absorbed in each other's arms 

with the magnetized redolence of the charms, 

like we will at no time be partitioned till 

death tooks us apart. 

If I were asked to paint a picture of heaven

I would paint it with those sweet voices of 

Mockingbird and The Whistling Cocktails. And 

the Nightingale will lock up our twinge with 

its whistle, trills and gurgles so calm. 

If I were asked to paint a picture of heaven

I would paint it with the Valleys of Ten Peaks, 

where we will rejoice when the nightfall will 

occur with that shiny broken moon and twinkling 

light all over the vault of heaven above and high. 

If I were asked to paint a picture of heaven

I would paint the berth with the natural pearls 

from the Oyster's Shell and give rise to a comfort 

zone with the Egyptian Cottons, to unbend in 

each other's arms forever and always and 

we will proudly entitle it as our abode. 

Ayesha Khalid

I sit under the Greenwood tree

I sit under the Greenwood tree

I sit under the greenwood tree

kicking around in the Amazonia

environ by the Amazon River in the vicinity. 

I can give ears to the emanation of pure liquid 

hydrogen and oxygen, from east to west,

from Atlantic to Pacific. 

I get vibes of the peacefulness, as now I am ruled out, from your imprisons of your motor response. 

I know the egress were never ringent, 

I was put on the ice in your head

but not in your blood-pumping organ. 

And that which put me to death from 

under a roof inch by inch.//

//Your every feel up have that 

sting like the bullet ants, 

Your ardency was like blue poison dark 

frog, which inundated the name of the 

game of adoreness from me. 

Your penchant was rechannelling into a 

parasites, which made me speculate that

it is scepticism on point. 

I got flustered and I beat a hasty retreat 

out of that restrain of your spiritual being. 

And punched the clock to draw breath 

here in peace. Though enclaved by 

amphibians and reptiles

But this will not be much stinging, 

like that prick you have given me in the 

form of snake bite.//

Ayesha Khalid

If tomorrow starts without me.

If tomorrow starts without me

if tomorrow starts without me

how will you run the show to daily grind

working out early to hit the road to hall of ivy. 

how will you carry on your daily meals

how will you officiate to stay in high spirits 

and tie in with the cosmos, 

how will you take the helm to branch out each step 

and get the knack of from your misdeem. 

if tomorrow starts without me

will you hold back loving me till the hell freezes over

or will you jump-off loving another soul of my age, 

will you miss my omnipresence

will you express tenderness unceasingly

will your heart, beat in the same manner

will you fall flat on face by my touch and kisses

which used to refine your recess of heart, 

when you used to reel back after that exhausting day. 

if tomorrow starts without me

how will you care for, when you will be oppressed

who will be your monophonic sounding board

who will help you to get to the bottom of your 

cyclic can of worms. 

who will be an agent of fraudulence to 

your parents about your malevolence

who will mount as a tower of strength 

at every state of affairs

with whom you will binge watch all the 

shows and movies munching all the cuisines. 

on whose shoulder you will put on the 

weeps whole night after your fake breakup fight

who will love you and tease you like I do as a perfectionist. 

if tomorrow starts without me

i mean your fore-bearer

your love

and your best friend

what will you decipher to draw breath. 

so if tomorrow starts without me

don't give feet a rest whole day and night 

and dissolve in tears, 

take up the gauntlet with humbleness and love

and earn to grab your goals, 

and till blue in the face be in fine feathers 

and love yourself even more and more. 

~Ayesha Khalid