Poems

Anarchy

anarchy

Anarchy was sprinting
Beaming like a conqueror taking a victory march
It was having a ball inside his veins
And then the man who had everything
Wanted nothing more but just a speck of deliverance
So they summoned a shepherd who played a tune
Which brought peace to the king and he was troubled no more *
Since that day the sound of those chords
Still echo till the ends of this earth
Mutating itself for every mortal soul
That falls in a pit of its own reality
Dejected, despairing, destroyed, devoured
Setting them free once they find it
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
And I lost it.

* 1 Samuel 16:14-23

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Let me Bleed

First Blog post of the year… something i wrote in 2015 🙂

Akhiz Munawar

Let me Bleed

Let me bleed
Lie to me
Twist the words, make them timeless
When the sun goes down and stars shimmer…
that soft silver glint in the eye
Pray
Pray that the clouds unleash
Sky paints a black coat to its soul
Move the shade away
Let the storm petrify
Warmth still lurks on the hammer’s head
Step away
Don’t tend to my wounds
Because sometimes
You bleed just to know you’re alive

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I killed my shadow

 

i killed my shadow

I killed my shadow
On a silent afternoon infused with a copper hue
I refused to surrender

With arms stretched under the scorching sun
I let in waves of heat inside my being
Until they reached down my soul

My shadow was no more…

Then night came playing its Cimmerian tune
Darkness stretching its arms everywhere
Like lovers reigning in their blissful content

But I saw the path every night
As I walked through the valley of shadow and death
That black I killed led me

Now the Dark of me brimmed with light
My shadow shimmered like gold
And showed me the way

I refused to surrender….

Words

Words

Words are not my friends
They don’t come to my aid in need
They hide
Crawl away
Disappear
Leave me hanging
Like a child lost in a fair
Or a man lost in the desert
All my emotions rest inside because
They abandon me
And me
I regard them, cherish them
Even if they are those of others
But they inflict
Scar away
Embrace Deception
Pretend
Sometimes words are all I have
And sometimes my hands are
Empty

 
I have been going through a Writer’s Block these past few months mostly on my Poetry side. So this time when I sat to write something I was completely flat and words were not coming out as I liked them to be, so this poem is the end result.

 

Some People

some people

Some people, we love them;
but we don’t get near them
because, from far, they are more seductive,
from far, they are more noble
from far, they are more precious.

Some people, we love them,
we do anything to be close to them,
we do everything to share every detail of our life with them,
it hurts to stay away from them,
it is impossible to imagine our life without them.

Some people, we love them,
we wish to live a beautiful story with them,
we come up with circumstances just to bump into them,
we come up with excuses just to see them,
we live a fantasy with them.

Some people, we love them,
but we keep it a secret to ourselves,
so we remain silent, even if it burns us,
we don’t declare our love, because the obstacles are numerous,
and the consequences are frightening,
and it is best for us that the door stays shut between us.

Some people, we love them,
we fill the earth with their love and we speak about them to the world,
we constantly whisper their name,
we need their presence… like water…like air,
we suffocate when they are not around.

Some people, we love them,
because they are available,
and our need to be loved pulls us to them,
because time flies, we age, and it scares us to stay without a companion.

Some people, we love them,
because they deserve nothing but to be loved,
we learn from them,
we build with them,
we paint the color of life with them,
we do everything to keep them happy.

Some people, we love them,
but they don’t love us back,
so we break and fall,
we never forget them,
we love no one but them,
and we cry them over again, every time we fail to win their love.

Some people, we love them,
we just wait until they see us,
until they love us in return,
until they love us as much as we love them.

~ Khalil Gibran

Khalil Gibran (1883-1931) was born in Bsharri, Lebanon. He immigrated with his parents to Boston in 1895, and later settled in New York City. His works, written in both Arabic and English, are full of lyrical outpourings and express his deeply religious and mystical nature. His work The Prophet (1923), a book of poetic essays, achieved cult status in modern literature. Gibran died in New York City.