will make me weave my blanket of poem,
but still i want to give a ray of hope,
because i felt the love
once upon a time through a kaleidoscope
where the colours reflected hands in glove
and blessed me with mayhem on rope.
as the shadow of trepidation knocks my door
eating half of my mind and chewing my
happiness from every chore,
leaving me with unrealistic thoughts
and flowing river of unhappiness
inside that horrified deadliest pot
where my breathe is audible to me
and profound shakes are forming a tree
of the instrumental chattering tune
searching for the medicinal key
on every corner of the cocoon.
after this terrific fight with my psyche
i am left behind with stages of dislike.
i remember i was happy soul,
a happy chirping one who used to laugh so much
and laughter is all that I owned with pride,
and gloominess used to stare at me
standing on one corner of that room,
getting jealous and jealous and finding
ways and ways to attack on my happy face
and it finally won the race
murdering my happiness in the first place.
the blanket of blue devil covers me
it covers me with all the dirt it has owned
and dirt under the blanket speak
all the figures of speech pretending
it as tongue in cheek.
they speak at the highest peak
that trying is not a failure,it's survival
oh! just one question please acknowledge,
will you let me survive if I try?
If I want to have an admirable fly
to convert my life into a carnival.
NO. NEVER. NOT AT ALL.
after giving ears to all these chronically
unhealthy words, which they think is ironically
bold and cool to make a person face the worst
so they repeat and repeat, as they took time to rehearse.
but,
i bring to my mind all the motivational
ghazals and nazms that ammi used to recite
when on days i want a healthy light,
and purify the veins of my poem
with all those misra to get out from that enchanted zoo
where i am plugged into feeling the blues.
i stretch my wings to inhale the air so fresh
and clean, which makes me free from the smoky screen.
Ayesha Khalid
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