Poetry Contest Prompt

Welcome to tpsg. Community Poetry Contest!

Write a poem (up to 20 lines) on the following image. (Enter by replying to this prompt)

Best poem wins PKR 5000 and much more!

Poetry prompt:

Source: https://www.dawn.com/news/1486940

Artwork: Sar-ba-kaf by Sadequain

Topic

[irajashfaq_909 UpvoteUp25DownDownvote::]

Strife
I could but couldn’t seem to,
Shivering with zeal yet couldn’t move,
Stretching out hands,
Attempting to catch that last strand of strength,
This vessel I couldn’t escape

Strife
I could but couldn’t seem to,
Shivering with zeal yet couldn’t move,
Stretching out hands,
Attempting to catch that last strand of strength,
This vessel I couldn’t escape,
Has me wondering,
Is it the soul in me?
Or is it that I’m the soul!

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[Rheen Sael UpvoteUp2DownDownvote::]

An 18yo’s take on it… how do you guys like it? P.S. i love what you all have written;)

The Portrait Unfinished

Frail pigeons beat, letters tethered to fragile wings—
“Complete the portrait,

An 18yo’s take on it… how do you guys like it? P.S. i love what you all have written;)

The Portrait Unfinished

Frail pigeons beat, letters tethered to fragile wings—
“Complete the portrait,” they plead, yet my canvas still clings.
No muse stirs, no vision ventures to emerge,
For all I see are faces masked, hearts that submerge.

What visage forms from trembling hands undone?
What light, what hue from this fractured frame spun?

What shall I craft for these lifeless spectators?
Perhaps… I paint myself, beneath their cold detainers.

I sever my head from my shoulders, unceremoniously still,
My green sinews unwind as the void saps my will.
Bent, misshapen, I cradle the weight of my skull,
One hand sketches, while the other, frail, null.

Each stroke interrogates—do I paint essence, or disguise?
I gaze into the half-drawn face, beneath its hollow eyes,
Does this figure emerge from truth or grotesque art?
Am I the creator, or have I merely torn apart

Still, I paint, as sinews strain and break,
Is this the form I seek, or a mask I can’t shake?
I face the canvas, trembling, unsure,
Wondering—when this portrait is done, will I endure?

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[sara.amir UpvoteUp4DownDownvote::]

“Who am I”
“Who am I?”, I ask myself, standing in front of the mirror with bated breath
My lost identity and myself, “who am I?”, I ask myself
How could I kno

“Who am I”
“Who am I?”, I ask myself, standing in front of the mirror with bated breath
My lost identity and myself, “who am I?”, I ask myself
How could I know the strangers of this world, if I don’t even know myself?
I am nothing but a lost traveler in this broken world
No one knows who they are, everyone just pretends
Their eyes are cold, hearts are stranded, minds are perplexed and strings of hearts are knotted
No one bothers to look inside, if their hearts are still alive
With a little faith in myself, I stand in front of the mirror and ask myself:
“Who is the girl I see, staring right back at me?”
But when will my reflection show who I am inside?

By Sara Amir

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[ayla.javed UpvoteUp1DownDownvote::]

Loneliness

It is useless to fear being alone
Could come in waves
Or as a slithering drop
But loneliness is a constant companion to humans
No matter that their entire purpose of existence depends on

Loneliness

It is useless to fear being alone
Could come in waves
Or as a slithering drop
But loneliness is a constant companion to humans
No matter that their entire purpose of existence depends on each other
No matter how much they try to find a piece of themselves in others,
Others who might wear the same cloak as them

But humans, the most unique creature of God,
Forget others could never be them
Will never understand each and every part of them

And this is the truth nobody is ready to acknowledge
Loneliness is inevitable
Loneliness is a part of this life
Loneliness is a reality of death

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[Hasaan UpvoteUp7DownDownvote::]

If I could carve the light in your eyes,
I’d spend my days and nights, stealing from the sun and moon ,
And I’d carve the light to be like the destination,
Beautiful.
And I’d take my every brea

If I could carve the light in your eyes,
I’d spend my days and nights, stealing from the sun and moon ,
And I’d carve the light to be like the destination,
Beautiful.
And I’d take my every breath to carve my reflection; into a lie.
I’d carve my soulless eyes; filled with lying light.
A face so beautiful, it could only be but a lie.
Dying hands, I’d carve into the one that could hold yours.
And why not?
To exist in your eyes for a moment,
Would be greater than living a long life.
And hate and hate me alot,
For at your first blink, the light would be gone,
And I would remain now, ashes burned.
From my lying, stolen light
And the hate doesn’t burn the ashes.
But I’d have lived my eternity in your eyes.
-Hasaan

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[umaimajunejo66 UpvoteUp10DownDownvote::]

decomposing

twenty-four years of decay,
a quarter of my existence gone
hurry, I must hurry
write down my legacy
in the space between your
nicotine scented fingers.
my voice carves a portrait
on t

decomposing

twenty-four years of decay,
a quarter of my existence gone
hurry, I must hurry
write down my legacy
in the space between your
nicotine scented fingers.
my voice carves a portrait
on the walls of your bedroom,
forever corroded into the cracks
of your gold tinted vision.
the urge to love rots under this skin,
while I wear my dying wish
like a blanket of mould.
to love, oh to be able to just love
before the third quarter dissolves
into the rushing days into hours
before the earth eats me up,
leaving the last of my breath
behind the peeling paint of my
last masterpiece: loving you

-umaima junejo

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[Memoona33 UpvoteUp2DownDownvote::]

I AM

I don’t like Whatever I am
but I don’t like anyone who isn’t like me
Yet I don’t like anyone who is actually like me
I’m attracted to what I’m not
Yet I̵

I AM

I don’t like Whatever I am
but I don’t like anyone who isn’t like me
Yet I don’t like anyone who is actually like me
I’m attracted to what I’m not
Yet I’m looking for what I’m
I love to spend hours and hours with someone who exhibits what I’ve suppressed
Yet I’m willing to settle for a lifetime with someone who’s mostly like me,
with additional fun
I don’t really consider myself a cheerful company
Yet I’m looking for my brother exactly a girl like me
I don’t really like what I’m
but I’m an ideal wife-to-be for all those who doesn’t know,
What I’m when I’m with no one
Yet I love that AM when I’m not what I’m with others
But am I really anything when Only I’m AM when others aren’t
Or am I nothing when I’m when others are,
am I am or AM!
Or Am when I’m scripted?

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[Tryingmybest UpvoteUp3DownDownvote::]

“The Creator”

Decapitated, he holds his head–
All nimble limbs and hollowed cheeks,
Loins draped with sagging rags
And nothing else to answer his pleas.

Despondent, he stares ahead
Unblink

“The Creator”

Decapitated, he holds his head–
All nimble limbs and hollowed cheeks,
Loins draped with sagging rags
And nothing else to answer his pleas.

Despondent, he stares ahead
Unblinkingly carving an Adonis
Spewing from the ichor ripped out of his flesh
Onto the barren walls of his beloved’s deck.
Toes grazing the marble she walked,
Heart swallowed to the beat of her gait–

Wilde’s Dorian now overturned
As he builds for Eve, an Adam suited
From the ribs of a beggar.
On whose feet he would lay
Apples and nectar, wine and Ambrosia
Until the king’s guards’ elbows nudge the canvas
Smeared, blurred, forsaken.
His beloved’s feet streaked with spilled crimson
Pierced by his broken teeth;
Eve ruined by the Snake’s greed.

Eiman Ahmed

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[abdullah hussain UpvoteUp2DownDownvote::]

*A Canvas of Silence*

What is life, an endless quest for perfection’s embrace?
What is life, a riddle wrapped in time and space?
What is life, a clash of dreams and stark reality’s bi

*A Canvas of Silence*

What is life, an endless quest for perfection’s embrace?
What is life, a riddle wrapped in time and space?
What is life, a clash of dreams and stark reality’s bite?
What is life, a shadow play in the dimmest light?

To seek what life is, humans spin their tales of woe,
Some love fiercely, while others wander, lost in shadow.
Some weep softly, their tears like rain on barren ground,
Some write verses of longing, where hope can still be found.

Some crave the dawn, while others fear the night’s cold hand,
Some read the whispers of the heart, a language unplanned.
Some find solace in silence, where echoes softly die,
Some wish for the stars, while others simply sigh.

In stillness, a soul grapples with a severed fate,
A head drawn on canvas, love, and loss intertwine in weight.
With each brushstroke, a heartbeat, with each line, a sigh,
For even in silence, the spirit learns to fly.

Death it is, life it is, a mirror held up high,
To capture fleeting moments, to question the why.
In the dance of creation, the heart’s truth finds release,
As art becomes a vessel, where broken pieces cease.

By Abdullah Hussain.

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[Ava Gray UpvoteUp6DownDownvote::]

They know me as a
Painter of Truth, as of today
Portraying a picture perfect
to lead the audience astray
But an artist recognizes another,
and they witnessed me as I decay
The lies that I painte

They know me as a
Painter of Truth, as of today
Portraying a picture perfect
to lead the audience astray
But an artist recognizes another,
and they witnessed me as I decay
The lies that I painted, crumbling at the bay
I beheaded myself just to
bear the crown on my head
They applauded me for my victory
as I shed tears and bled
I blamed the world not to notice my torn self
But I wore armor so strong that even I
couldn’t notice the pain until it was too late
Once again, I picked up the brush
to see myself paint
And watched, as the canvas bled with my fate.

_Leht Mannan_

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[Rayan UpvoteUp3DownDownvote::]

TITLE: BUT THAT’S NOT ME

I stare at myself, as horrifying as a sin
My ugliness laid bare, scars on my skin
Rumor surrounds me about my ‘supposed’ evil deeds
I try to speak against it, but nobod

TITLE: BUT THAT’S NOT ME

I stare at myself, as horrifying as a sin
My ugliness laid bare, scars on my skin
Rumor surrounds me about my ‘supposed’ evil deeds
I try to speak against it, but nobody heeds
A nobody myself, for I have nothing for them to see
Nothing more than a whisper, concealed by the harsh breeze
I paint myself gold to finally feel
What it feels like to become what is considered ‘real’
With a brush stroke, my world changed
Behold! I feel myself freed, no longer caged
I stare at myself, as beautiful as gold
My beauty laid bare, stories of it told
But only if it lasted forever
For me, there was no happiness ever
They came and took a piece of me, bit by bit
Attracted to my beauty, but saw me as an object
Torn into pieces, I realized then
This life was not meant for me, as it may have been for some men
I may be considered ugly and nothing
But that’s not me, now that’s something

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[naya UpvoteUp3DownDownvote::]

The Double Edged Knife :
contrition scratches my throat
the sorrow of my control blinding me
your disregard that I mistook for heed
a paradox between your lies and my truth

your iris fails to see

The Double Edged Knife :
contrition scratches my throat
the sorrow of my control blinding me
your disregard that I mistook for heed
a paradox between your lies and my truth

your iris fails to see the mourning tears I’ve cried
at the wake of something that does not exist and never did

hope as brittle as a butterfly – love as loathsome as the hate you planted for me in our garden of make belief
join me as I keep the memory of us
as the lyrics for songs about deciet

your detest of my disposition
that your pen once praised
drew me in shades of green
my redemption echoing in every one of your screams

hanging in the museum of our so-called tale
an archive of afterthoughts no one cares to visit

I sit with my penitence
forever entrapped in the canvas you etched me in

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[zakarimsha UpvoteUp3DownDownvote::]

I am tired of myself tonight
It’s getting vague and heavy
I can’t see my soul enough
Maybe I have to try some colors
Ashes, Dark and Blood are my synonyms
Those sublime creatures are hove

I am tired of myself tonight
It’s getting vague and heavy
I can’t see my soul enough
Maybe I have to try some colors
Ashes, Dark and Blood are my synonyms
Those sublime creatures are hovering me
I am naked and feel the wrath on my bones
Will I able to sketch or just leave my scars
I am tired I am tired
My brush smells like rusted love
It’s asymmetrical and divine
I can’t hold it and I am afraid
That city has turned me blind
I am drawing it until my eyes bleed

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[11.misssana UpvoteUp3DownDownvote::]

Title: The Gemini conflict
Theme: Schizophrenia
Author: Sana Jawad Chaudhry

I see their shadows in every glance,
The mirror holds them captive in a trance.
I hear their whispers when you speak to m

Title: The Gemini conflict
Theme: Schizophrenia
Author: Sana Jawad Chaudhry

I see their shadows in every glance,
The mirror holds them captive in a trance.
I hear their whispers when you speak to me,
Their voices drown the quiet, endlessly.

Who am I now, with so much unclear
A reflection of them, or the person here?
I have a family, but do they even see,
The parts of me that I’m forced to bury?

You say I scare you, so you pull away,
Leaving me stranded, night and day.
But I’m never alone how could I be?
They’re always here, haunting me endlessly.

You think setting me free is what I need,
But their grip is tight, I can’t break free.
I’ve lost my voice, they speak through me,
Their plans and schemes cloud my clarity.

You call them voices, nothing more
But they’re my truth, a silent war.
I can’t escape, there’s no release for me
I am them, and they are me eternally.

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[Sundas Anjum UpvoteUp3DownDownvote::]

On a sore September night, I sit in my room with knots in my stomach.
Summer was so merciless its teeth sharp as a knife biting through my tender flesh
Now I sit in my room with my punctured skin blee

On a sore September night, I sit in my room with knots in my stomach.
Summer was so merciless its teeth sharp as a knife biting through my tender flesh
Now I sit in my room with my punctured skin bleeding, my warm blood but now turned cold dripping through my fingers as I try to remember and paint a picture of my true self on a wooden canvas.
I’m just a fetus with layers and layers of skin, a long-term desire for motherly love still waits deep in my heart.
Now my nasty greenish corpse-looking body is so envious of the mighty ash-brown figure I’m painting.
So much of me has died during the past few eons it has just been bleeding and dying, bleeding and dying.
I have drained myself so much so that to have this bloody tea, I created this great sea, just filled with misery and salt, the concentration of the salt is much greater than the Dead Sea for me to scrub it over and over again on my open wounds. Feeling all synonyms of pain, agony, affliction, torture, and discomfort and then I put up a show of self-pity for the self I have lost…
SUNDAS ANJUM

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[Koreen UpvoteUp3DownDownvote::]

In my preception the painting shows how a artist pours himself into his work and his work is a reflection of himself, so here is my take on this 🙂
Writters hands
A writters hands are forever inked,

In my preception the painting shows how a artist pours himself into his work and his work is a reflection of himself, so here is my take on this 🙂
Writters hands
A writters hands are forever inked,
Tell me if I drowned would you sink
I am a serenade of sentiments in search of words,
would you like to live in tattered world in my
Is your heart enough to hold a sea,
Even my happiest memories often bleed
Can you fight with vigour a loosing war,
Swim an ocean with no shore
If your heart was stolen would you still live,
And find out there is nothing left to give
It is for the best that we are far away,
You and I were never fate
~Koren. R

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[eliah.george.m UpvoteUp3DownDownvote::]

Title : Colour of my soul
I’m painting my own canvas
I’m choosing my own colour
I’m cutting my own head
I’m finding my true self
I’m lost in this doomed self
I’m

Title : Colour of my soul
I’m painting my own canvas
I’m choosing my own colour
I’m cutting my own head
I’m finding my true self
I’m lost in this doomed self
I’m rottening in my own flesh
These colours the world has filled me with
Have made me monsterous for myself
So I’ll paint until I pass away
My colours will speak for myself
There’s nothing in me
Except for the pain
But I’ll paint my canvas with my own hands
So much life I’ll store in it
So much love you’ll find in it
It’ll nothing like my own true self
I won’t paint the monster that haunts my head
Paint it with colours
That my soul crave
Paint it with life
I’ve longed strayed
~Eliah George

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[forestgreen UpvoteUp3DownDownvote::]

‘What you think’

You think my skin is a nasty green colour
But it’s actually a rich brown
You think my head of hair is nothing special
But truly, it’s fit for a crown

You think my j

‘What you think’

You think my skin is a nasty green colour
But it’s actually a rich brown
You think my head of hair is nothing special
But truly, it’s fit for a crown

You think my joints are aching with age
But they are as strong as can be
You think I am weak, with no voice of my own
But I can scream like a banshee

You think all I own is shabby rags
But I have closets full of silks fine
You think this dingy place is my permanent abode
But I dwell in a palace filled with things divine

You see me once and you judge me
That being right, I don’t recall
But whatever your perception ,I’ll be me
And your judgements will be your fall.

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[ayesharana1814 UpvoteUp3DownDownvote::]

Here’s my take on it.

‘Skinless Visage’

A skinless being, with a lovely visage.
Pretty and demure,
But a lovelier mask.
Fear not, I shall procure.

I reside in walls, a smoky g

Here’s my take on it.

‘Skinless Visage’

A skinless being, with a lovely visage.
Pretty and demure,
But a lovelier mask.
Fear not, I shall procure.

I reside in walls, a smoky guest,
Ethereal and ephemeral.
Come here, my love, come and rest,
There are hours but several.

For you, my dear, I shall allow only finery.
The sharpest of blades,
To glide through your skin so ivory,
From you, I shall be made.

Vein and bone bend to my carve,
Fashioning a skinned mask,
Beauty is seen, but the heart is starved,
Mercy is a forgotten name, but do not ask.

The string is tightened,
The mask is done.
The skinless is frightened,
Faces are many, but I am but one.

By: Ayesha Rana

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[kinzkhan14 UpvoteUp6DownDownvote::]

Title: “HUMANS”

The earth cracks under their weight, a crawl of greed,
Fingers stained with the ash of a thousand burned seeds.
They chew on the bones of the beasts they dethrone,
With ey

Title: “HUMANS”

The earth cracks under their weight, a crawl of greed,
Fingers stained with the ash of a thousand burned seeds.
They chew on the bones of the beasts they dethrone,
With eyes that reflect only themselves, alone.

Veins pulsing oil, their breath a toxic cloud,
They kill the stars to light their towers proud.
Skin draped in gold, yet their hearts rot black,
They carve out the sky, never looking back.

Their laughter a dagger that scars the air,
They claim to love, but they never care.
Flies on the carcass of truth, they breed,
Fattened on lies, they devour their creed.

They speak of beauty, yet piss in the stream,
Turning oceans to sludge, smothering the dream.
They plant flags in the dust, declaring it theirs,
Killing their brothers with blind, empty stares.

The flesh of the earth, under nails they pry,
With hands so filthy, they choke the sky.
They pretend to be gods, but only decay,
A virus of sorrow that won’t go away.

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[cheemahassan029 UpvoteUp5DownDownvote::]

Title: duality
یہ میری شایانِ شاں تو نہیں ہے کہ
تیری یاد میں رُت جگے کاٹوں
کچھ باتیں چھپا کے رکھوں
اور کچھ کو ستاروں س

Title: duality
یہ میری شایانِ شاں تو نہیں ہے کہ
تیری یاد میں رُت جگے کاٹوں
کچھ باتیں چھپا کے رکھوں
اور کچھ کو ستاروں سے بانٹوں
یہ محبت کو قلبی سکوں کہا ہے کس نے
اس زہریلے سکوں کو آخر سہا ہے کس نے
ایسی عشق بازیاں یہاں کرتا ہے کون
ٹکے کی حسیناؤں پہ آخر مرتا ہے کون
یہ محبت کی باتیں بنائی ہیں کس نے
یہ قصے کہانیاں سنائی ہیں کس نے
بے سکونی کے بدلے دل لگاتا ہے کون
بے چینیاں لے کے چیں ٹھکراتا ہے کون
یہ ہلکی سی جنبش سے پلکیں جھکائی ہیں کس نے
اتنی نزاکت سے یہ آنکھیں اٹھائی ہیں کس نے
اتنی نرمی سے ہونٹوں سے مسکراتا ہے کون
اتنی بھی جلدی آخر دل کو بھاتا ہے کون
یہ من میں میٹھی سی کسک جگائی ہے کس نے
یہ دھڑکن کی دھک دھک بڑائی ہے کس نے
ایسی بہشت زدہ ہوائیں لگواتا ہے کون
سینے میں ٹھنڈ پڑواتا ہے کون
یوں تو میری شایانِ شان نہیں کہ تیری یاد میں رُت جگے کاٹوں
مگر ایسی خوبصورت راتوں کو ٹھکراتا ہے کون
ایسی دل فریب آفت سے خود کو بچاتا ہے کون

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[ayeshak UpvoteUp19DownDownvote::]

“Dear Narcissist”

When you love-bomb and appear,
Then turn to hate and disappear.

When you talk day and night,
Then go silent, taking flight.

When you come, you are the one,
Then you go, as dul

“Dear Narcissist”

When you love-bomb and appear,
Then turn to hate and disappear.

When you talk day and night,
Then go silent, taking flight.

When you come, you are the one,
Then you go, as dull as dun.

Patchin’ me with all your cares,
Only to leave me torn and in tears.

You were a string of sitar,
Chomping my heart, you gator!

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[5h4za UpvoteUp1DownDownvote::]

Title: Sustenance
It is today again
I wake up realising so, unfortunately,
I try not to think about how the only thing new today
Would be the face i choose to put on,
It has been too long now,
Stuck

Title: Sustenance
It is today again
I wake up realising so, unfortunately,
I try not to think about how the only thing new today
Would be the face i choose to put on,
It has been too long now,
Stuck in this labyrinth
With no escape
I cannot recall the face I had at the start of it all
Now everyday I choose an expression to master
Though I have failed yet and yet again
To put on a smile neat enough for disguise,
I get caught
And I fail
yet this miserable cycle drags me through this dismay
I try to let go but it’s grasp is too strong
And when I try to hold on, it mocks me
I do not know how much longer I can keep the show going
Especially with no audience to perform for

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[ebaad.saqib UpvoteUp1DownDownvote::]

Days now are warmer than i’m used.
The shore killed the trees in cold blood,
they place time of death around midnight.

the heat poaches my attention.
would you like me to remember the winter?

Days now are warmer than i’m used.
The shore killed the trees in cold blood,
they place time of death around midnight.

the heat poaches my attention.
would you like me to remember the winter?

I’m not used to shade, not used to cooling the sweat off my back.
I’ve laboured under the love of the sun.

I’m not used to your shade.
You can tell the dirt is cold.
Trying to reach out from beyond you.
The heat is from after your shadow.

I want to be more than you.
your shade is all I am.

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[muhammadzulqarnain6027 UpvoteUp1DownDownvote::]

Fragmented Echoes

In the mirror, I reach for the face I’ve lost,
A shadowed fragment of the self once whole,
Limbs tangled in the chaos of what was,
As hands sculpt the edges of a forgotten soul.

Fragmented Echoes

In the mirror, I reach for the face I’ve lost,
A shadowed fragment of the self once whole,
Limbs tangled in the chaos of what was,
As hands sculpt the edges of a forgotten soul.

Green like envy or the sickness of time,
Contours blur as memory rewrites skin,
Each piece reshaped by a distant chime,
That tolls for the me I have shed within.

Yet from the void, a visage peers,
Eyes heavy with unsaid words and fears.
Is it the past that stares through the frame,
Or a future self whispering my name?

Am I the artist or the clay to mold?
In the fractured glass, stories unfold.
And though my hands tremble, I redefine—
A new face, a self reclaimed, divine.

(Muhammad Zulqarnain)

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[javeria.bashir UpvoteUp1DownDownvote::]

“Times She Caresses”

I’ve been watching you here for some time
In solitude, I’ve been here for a while
While she holds her space from a distance
For the adventures her exquisi

“Times She Caresses”

I’ve been watching you here for some time
In solitude, I’ve been here for a while
While she holds her space from a distance
For the adventures her exquisite self carries.

There are days when the glistening rays & the light flicker,
When, in the waves, in silence, in stillness,
She touches me, then leaves, & repeats.

I write & she removes, & I draw & she wipes.
Now that I see her sinking into the sand,
Each time takes my breath away.
La Vida.

Softly, she fills me with all her transparency, in every way,
Permeating into me, into my soul, she chants.
She’s been skating on the sea, reclaiming her realm,
Striders own the shore & the silent force.

While she lets go of her roar, the pearls escape.
She hunts the treasure, and the surf sizzles.

All I know, all I hear: soliloquy—
A place of knowing & purifying, La Mar.

(No privacy provided, all the submissions are made public)

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[sabafarrukhozil UpvoteUp3DownDownvote::]

I must confess,
I wouldn’t recognize myself in a crowded room.
Were I to step outside my body,
The contours of my face would disappear,
And my gaze would search for me, far and near.

You se

I must confess,
I wouldn’t recognize myself in a crowded room.
Were I to step outside my body,
The contours of my face would disappear,
And my gaze would search for me, far and near.

You see,
In my mind, I am different:
Golden embers of a fire,
The chiseled face of a Grecian,
The prowess of a leopard.

If I dissected myself,
To paint a self-portrait,
I’d enhance my beauty,
And bashfully deny the deception I create.

Herein lies the problem:
Convincing myself, convincing others of this alternate me,
Has stripped me of my ability to just be.

So my gaze will seek what it has never known,
For I have denied my reality.

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[tayyabmuhammadtariq UpvoteUp18DownDownvote::]

“Always the poet, never the muse”

The blood runs hot, yet the pen is cold today,
The painting smiles, yet the head cries today,
A lot has been lost, the muse, the ink, the face,
Yet, I pa

“Always the poet, never the muse”

The blood runs hot, yet the pen is cold today,
The painting smiles, yet the head cries today,
A lot has been lost, the muse, the ink, the face,
Yet, I paint today, the ragged breath, the decomposing hands, the laughing colors.

I bury myself in the stone, I burn myself on the ground
I cut my head off, the blood sprays on the canvas
As is the pain, as is the muse laughing at itself
The halls are so silent, yet the laughs…

Couldn’t I be Dorian, my painting eaten away,
Couldn’t I be Gogh, the happiness making its way,
But I couldn’t be, for the happiness kills itself in reality,
For the angel of death only laughs and the life cries,

Such is the methodology of life, such is the cries of heart,
The pen cries the ink dries, and the muse laughs…

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[moneezhay.jaffer UpvoteUp3DownDownvote::]

“A Canvas Of Duality”

As I bare myself on the canvas,
I thought there was only one of me.
As I start to paint with red,
Suddenly, there are two of me.

One stroke to the left, the other t

“A Canvas Of Duality”

As I bare myself on the canvas,
I thought there was only one of me.
As I start to paint with red,
Suddenly, there are two of me.

One stroke to the left, the other to the right,
A hazy reality and vivid imagination.
One taking control, the other hiding in fright,
Each brushstroke reveals a new incarnation.

With each stroke, I lose myself,
Or was it revealing my true self?
One draped in red, the other slathered in blue,
A mere canvas now turned into a portal.

Should I give up or should I let it be?
Coexist in harmony.
As we stare into infinity,
Embracing duality within me.

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[SheharBano786 UpvoteUp4DownDownvote::]

Title: Beheaded for a Narcissist

When I tried to paint my life with you,
I severed my thoughts,
Silenced my conscience,
Surrendered—
To breathe life into our hollow bond.

I wanted to make you see

Title: Beheaded for a Narcissist

When I tried to paint my life with you,
I severed my thoughts,
Silenced my conscience,
Surrendered—
To breathe life into our hollow bond.

I wanted to make you see
How far I’d go to please you.
Once green as grass,
Now brittle as soil,
Brushed off your feet.

I lost myself in painting our perfect picture,
Too naive to see
You were never there.
Only when the painting was nearly complete
Did I see my own loneliness—
My severed head in my hand.
Too late now to mourn,
The damage is done.

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[alinakhalidnafees2008 UpvoteUp3DownDownvote::]

‘I Am no Muse’

The white of the canvas
Is sheer transparent,
A guide to my soul,
In decade work’s practice.
To make an art piece
Which exhales my breath;
Relinquishing the friendships,

‘I Am no Muse’

The white of the canvas
Is sheer transparent,
A guide to my soul,
In decade work’s practice.
To make an art piece
Which exhales my breath;
Relinquishing the friendships, promises,
And all that it would make better.

The window panes also stammer
With every wind,
My wall hangs bland
With no reflection, just plain.
I don’t remember
The muse that I was;
Having forgotten
The obscure stares of
Raw passion and awe.

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[anwaar.i.hassan UpvoteUp41DownDownvote::]

_”Beheaded”_

Disoriented but alive
Beheaded but trying,
To find a way to survive
In the cruelest of cruel times

Haven’t met myself in long long time
When counted the days, they

_”Beheaded”_

Disoriented but alive
Beheaded but trying,
To find a way to survive
In the cruelest of cruel times

Haven’t met myself in long long time
When counted the days, they were twenty five
They run after me to punish me for crimes
That I never did, but they don’t think twice

Always in a fight
Between dark and light
Shades of green turned golden bright
Painting my mind in the middle of the night

I shaded my life, using my bile
Poisoned my soul, to save my pride
But in the end, one must die
Beheaded and not revived

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[aleena.akn UpvoteUp4DownDownvote::]

THE PAINTER

Always being the painter, and never being the muse
I, for once, decided to paint myself

Rummaged my belongings in search of the brushes
I used to have when painting was my solace
When I

THE PAINTER

Always being the painter, and never being the muse
I, for once, decided to paint myself

Rummaged my belongings in search of the brushes
I used to have when painting was my solace
When I never knew that paintings can be bad or good;

Looked everywhere yet found them not,
But I had to paint ,I had to
it was the only way to be alive

Tore apart a bone of mine
And dipped it in the red liquid
That runs through my veins

Started to paint, ignoring all my flaws
Picture perfect! I had to be

Then it was completed, at last
Oh and how perfect it was!

Till now there I lie, forever
As a lie
A perfect painting
Of a flawed painter

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[aleena.akn UpvoteUp6DownDownvote::]

THE PAINTER

Always the painter, and never the muse
I, for once, decided to paint myself

Rummaged my belongings in search of the brushes
I used to have, when painting was my solace
Looked everywhere

THE PAINTER

Always the painter, and never the muse
I, for once, decided to paint myself

Rummaged my belongings in search of the brushes
I used to have, when painting was my solace
Looked everywhere yet found them not,

But I had to paint ,I had to
it was the only way to be alive

Tore apart a bone of mine
And dipped it in the red liquid
That runs through my veins

Started to paint, ignoring all my flaws
Picture perfect! I had to be

Then it was completed, at last
Oh and how perfect it was!

Till now there I lie, forever
As a lie
A perfect painting
Of a deceased painter

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[sophie.abid16 UpvoteUp2DownDownvote::]

“The Weight of Her Last Breath”

He used to carry the world
on tired shoulders, fragile lives
held like glass too thin to grasp.
She was his world—frail, breathless
beneath the hum of ma

“The Weight of Her Last Breath”

He used to carry the world
on tired shoulders, fragile lives
held like glass too thin to grasp.
She was his world—frail, breathless
beneath the hum of machines.
One moment, a breath too late—
and the world stopped.

Years have passed,
but he hasn’t let go of that night,
his mind a loop he can’t escape,
guilt carved deep, blame his prayer.
He walks among us, but there’s a shadow
in his eyes, a voice sharp,
begging for a truth he can’t find.

We watch him spin faster,
a storm in the quiet of our lives.
We try to hold him,
but he slips through like smoke.
Still, he burns, and we wait, helpless,
hoping he wakes before he’s ash.

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[umer.azam UpvoteUp3DownDownvote::]

“Loose Skin”

If i make up my mind
Will it have some worth
In the ever shifting waters
Of thoughts and decisions
Or if i craft myself a heart
From the clay of doubts
And cook it in the k

“Loose Skin”

If i make up my mind
Will it have some worth
In the ever shifting waters
Of thoughts and decisions
Or if i craft myself a heart
From the clay of doubts
And cook it in the kiln of hope
Will it then have some value
In an unpassionate world
Or would i still have to
Think of something else
Or should i build myself anew
Shedding all the loose skin
Taking nothing from the past
Will i then have a future
In the stream of time
Or is the present all we have

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[abeehaalvi15 UpvoteUp2DownDownvote::]

“My being of brass, my hands draw gold”

A story of mine kept untold
Tell the world what I behold

My being of brass, my hands draw gold
Listen oh world what I behold

Incomplete picture

“My being of brass, my hands draw gold”

A story of mine kept untold
Tell the world what I behold

My being of brass, my hands draw gold
Listen oh world what I behold

Incomplete picture, quite old
Can you see me what I behold?

Dreams trapped, soul is sold
Cry to the world what I behold

Words are silent and silence is bold
Beg the world to see what I behold

Embrace is warm but hands are cold
No longer wish to show what I behold

Written by,
Abeeha Ali

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[Memoona33 UpvoteUp3DownDownvote::]

am, AM or Am

I don’t like Whatever I am
but I don’t like anyone who isn’t like me
Yet I don’t like anyone who is actually like me
I’m attracted to what I’m not
Ye

am, AM or Am

I don’t like Whatever I am
but I don’t like anyone who isn’t like me
Yet I don’t like anyone who is actually like me
I’m attracted to what I’m not
Yet I’m looking for what I’m
I love to spend hours and hours with someone who exhibits what I’ve suppressed
Yet I’m willing to settle for a lifetime with someone who’s mostly like me,
with additional fun
I don’t really consider myself a cheerful company
Yet I’m looking for my brother exactly a girl like me
I don’t really like what I’m
but I’m an ideal wife-to-be for all those who doesn’t know,
What I’m when I’m with no one
Yet I love that AM when I’m not what I’m with others
But am I really anything when Only I’m AM when others aren’t
Or am I nothing when I’m when others are,
am I am or AM!
Or Am when I’m scripted?

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[Sanan Jadoon UpvoteUp3DownDownvote::]

Title: Blood is the Paint of Love

Under the light of lamp that night,
Having the innocence in thy sight,
Thee asked me if my love was pure,
Thee asked me if I loved you more,
A dreadful silence gra

Title: Blood is the Paint of Love

Under the light of lamp that night,
Having the innocence in thy sight,
Thee asked me if my love was pure,
Thee asked me if I loved you more,
A dreadful silence grasped my lips,
I sensed a parting of our ways,
I felt that sorrow in thy gaze,

In all these lonely and desperate years,
How could I prove my love my dear,
Now death is knocking at my door,
Now I can prove my love for sure,
Let me cut my head this time,
Let me paint my face with blood,
So pages of history may testify,
I loved you till my last of sigh,
You have taught me the lesson I need,
Blood is the paint of love indeed.

-Sanan Jadoon

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[zaibnaveed478 UpvoteUp3DownDownvote::]

“Fragments of the Unseen”

Before the glass, I kneel alone,
A body contorted, carved from stone.
Hands trace shadows of what’s undone,
Grasping echoes of battles never won.

Above, a face floats

“Fragments of the Unseen”

Before the glass, I kneel alone,
A body contorted, carved from stone.
Hands trace shadows of what’s undone,
Grasping echoes of battles never won.

Above, a face floats—distant, estranged,
An outline of all that has changed.
Fingers curl toward a fractured frame,
Chasing a ghost without a name.

In hues of green, my skin betrays,
The silent ache of endless days.
A soul unmoored, adrift inside,
With nowhere left for truth to hide.

Eyes once clear now dim with doubt,
Reaching in, yet nothing out.
What was whole is splintered, torn,
A heart forever caught, forlorn.

I twist, I bend, but find no form—
A self remade, yet still deformed.
In shards of me, no solace lies,
Only the endless search survives.

By
Zainub Naveed

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[Ghostssccythes UpvoteUp3DownDownvote::]

Title: “Against blasphemy, salvation prevails”

Despaired and encased in abyss,
Respairty, lends hands towards bliss.

Original self declines,while thou depicts new,
Seeks vigour, for how

Title: “Against blasphemy, salvation prevails”

Despaired and encased in abyss,
Respairty, lends hands towards bliss.

Original self declines,while thou depicts new,
Seeks vigour, for how long, self hatred brews?

Eyes meek, one’s own thoughts reek,
Hands on canvas smeared, what thou seek?

To please the whisperers, thy body rends,
In hopes, the fate doesn’t bend,
A self demise, rotten eyes, nauseating mind.
Can rebirth revitalize?

Thorns for penance, poke,
From humiliation, thou never woke.

Obscure sorrow and joy,
For being headless and rebirthed,
Never in need of coy,
Hideous face earthed.

Even the mirror breaks,
From worthlessness, soul aches.
Miracle of hope, can heavens ave?
Can oneself enjoy rave?

Are heavens, so cruel,
Thoughts of blasphemy, in mind rule,
Penance of decapitation, God behooves.

With burden, truth one seek,
Utmost devotion, though to others a freak.

Views of ‘’summa blasphemia’’,
blessing in disguise, hails,
God’s word recited, Divinity prevails.

Left to world a tenacious tale,
Quenched with the–Presence of divinities ale.
-Ghostsccythes(Shadeweaver)

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[anumfkhan28 UpvoteUp3DownDownvote::]

Title : The Solitary Painter

When I could not unravel myself
I began to paint myself
down to the finest detail.
The canvas became my mirror
and oh what a reckoning it is to draw every crooked contour

Title : The Solitary Painter

When I could not unravel myself
I began to paint myself
down to the finest detail.
The canvas became my mirror
and oh what a reckoning it is to draw every crooked contour
with the very hand that had carved it on my face in the first place,
with trembling worries,
with dragging sorrows,
with hollowing lonelinesses.
All I could see were my sins,
how far I had strayed from the original,
the pristine, golden, angelic face.
And I’m sure there are others
with maladies like mine
but in the horror of my own reflection
to all else, I’d turned blind.

-Anum Khan

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[Usfa Athar UpvoteUp2DownDownvote::]

TITLE: CANVAS OF MISERY

I lacerated my own veins to paint my misery
Hoping someone would spare a glance
The canvas couldn’t hold the weight of my mystery
With the time I’ve left, I’

TITLE: CANVAS OF MISERY

I lacerated my own veins to paint my misery
Hoping someone would spare a glance
The canvas couldn’t hold the weight of my mystery
With the time I’ve left, I’ll barely get a chance
Will it hurt to hope that someone will ever lend me hand?
Not leave me in the dessert of my own thoughts to strand.
To unveil the depths of my hidden history.
Before my body withers physically.
So let the world witness my painted plight,
A chaotic masterpiece that will see the light

~USFA ATHAR

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[hamza.azhar UpvoteUp6DownDownvote::]

DEAD MEN DIE TWICE
by Hamza Azhar

The dead man unropes himself
and holds his broken neck in his hands.
He sits on a yellow bench nearby,
extends his weary hands towards his torn pocket;
he pulls out

DEAD MEN DIE TWICE
by Hamza Azhar

The dead man unropes himself
and holds his broken neck in his hands.
He sits on a yellow bench nearby,
extends his weary hands towards his torn pocket;
he pulls out a piece of paper with an address written on it,
and stares at it with his unfortunate eyes – a tear trickles down
upon his cheek and falls onto the paper.
He memorizes the address briefly,
holds his desire and lights the paper on fire.
‘Now is the time to return home’
He thinks to himself and treads lightly with his tired legs.
He walks for two hundred and twenty days in scorching heat;
he finally reaches an abandoned house: his home.
As he stares upon the old wooden door,
he knocks as hard as his broken fingers let him;
but no one answers.

He must have forgotten:
sometimes the bridges burn,
the rivers flow backwards,
the moon does not shine,
people do not wait.

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[Habitual irony UpvoteUp3DownDownvote::]

i don’t like you but i look like you
and you look like me — but you told me
“you would not like me if i were you”
darts are lined up at the entrance
of my mouth. my voice likes

i don’t like you but i look like you
and you look like me — but you told me
“you would not like me if i were you”
darts are lined up at the entrance
of my mouth. my voice likes target
practicing
yet it keeps missing the red mark
but i’ve heard my breaths whispering
against me and i’ve heard gasps melt into a scream
miles away from the growth rings on your dreams
they were cut down but they are too ancient to die. slipped from your hands, so they are no longer mine, but ours’
yet you don’t like me..and i don’t like you
i sliced up heaven for you and you slow down hell for me — the foe you befriend in me likes sliding matches over the underside of all our believes
for we ended up destroying something
and now
it looks too much like us

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[aresha.assad UpvoteUp3DownDownvote::]

Amidst the chaos, upon my bed I lie
A storm of ideas passes by
The vibrant brain wants to go high
But the body’s too frail to try
Numbness wraps joy and sorrow in its hold,
Feelings quiet, like

Amidst the chaos, upon my bed I lie
A storm of ideas passes by
The vibrant brain wants to go high
But the body’s too frail to try
Numbness wraps joy and sorrow in its hold,
Feelings quiet, like stories left untold,
Inside, battles silently flow,
Life’s colors fade to a quiet low
The need to do, held by a stubborn ache
Dragging me deep into a place that’s fake
I wear a borrowed face,
Hiding sorrow with a grin’s embrace,
But deep within, a soul confined,
Longs to break free, leave past behind,
Like an empty tree in solitude,
Craving escape, a life renewed.

By Aresha Assad

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[hamnaadeel20 UpvoteUp58DownDownvote::]

Uninvited Guests.

I switch off the lights in my room,
Uninvited guests knock at the door, I sigh.
Peeling off my mask that hid my sorrows,
They forcefully enter and sit with me for a while.

Grief c

Uninvited Guests.

I switch off the lights in my room,
Uninvited guests knock at the door, I sigh.
Peeling off my mask that hid my sorrows,
They forcefully enter and sit with me for a while.

Grief comes forth and hugs me, pulling me closer.
The more tightly it held me, the more tears came out.
Months of pain, frustration, anxiety, rage….
My tears were an amalgamation of all
Unsaid and pressed down emotions.

I attempted to get up but Agony held me down
And I was forced to face the sins of my past.
I struggled through meandering and muddy paths
But it only led me back to my miseries and traumas.

Saw a blurred figure knelt down infront of me,
It had a wistful smile across his face, Nostalgia…
I shut my eyes, rewind to the good times;
Sharing lunch with friends and gathering sea shells.

The guests were soon gone and I didn’t have to
Shelter the pain inside my chest anymore.

By: Hamna Adeel

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[tpsg. UpvoteUp-1DownDownvote::]

Congratulations @hamnaadeel20 for winning the contest!

Thank you to all for participation!

[Zainabasim06 UpvoteUp3DownDownvote::]

The Burning Desire:

A lonely man draws fraudulent realities to quiver that soul so weak.
He sculpts his desire with the unwavering intention that is seemingly bleak.
His bruised heart resting in his

The Burning Desire:

A lonely man draws fraudulent realities to quiver that soul so weak.
He sculpts his desire with the unwavering intention that is seemingly bleak.
His bruised heart resting in his lap as he tries to coax it to accept the new he;
Those facial muscles must be taut and brooding his gaze must be.
“This might fix me”, he said in a tone so lifeless and caged.
A sharp ache caught his core in a hundred different flames;
The arson he nurtured was surely ablaze.
And so the past he held in his non-dominant hand pleaded to return the old order, and calm the mayhem at state.
But he let his flesh melt away and fate engulf him-the only thing he thought was worth the wait.
The painting turned out exactly as he imagined: beautiful and doomed, struck by lighting and a curse too.

By:
Zainab Asim

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[aliisbokhari UpvoteUp6DownDownvote::]

In Search of the Divine

In silent hues, a tale doth weave,
A head in hand, the heart bereaved.
Decapitated, yet he walks the night,
In meeting God, a radiant light.

With severed form, he cradles gra

In Search of the Divine

In silent hues, a tale doth weave,
A head in hand, the heart bereaved.
Decapitated, yet he walks the night,
In meeting God, a radiant light.

With severed form, he cradles grace,
On canvas pure, he draws the face.
Two visages, one in sacred trance,
A mirror of the soul, a fated dance.

Through martyrdom, the phoenix soars,
From ashes cold to heaven’s doors.
For God resides within each man,
A hidden spark, the sacred plan.

In life or death, the seeker roams,
In every gaze, the heart finds homes.
Yet tangled threads of mind and heart,
Reveal the struggles that tear apart.

Exploring depths of identity’s maze,
Where sanity dances in shadowed haze.
The fractured self, both lost and found,
In sacred chaos, truth is unbound.

Thus, in that quest, the spirit’s claim—
To know thyself is to fan the flame.
In every wound, a story flows,
In seeking the divine, the self bestows.

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[Soha UpvoteUp4DownDownvote::]

TEARS:

The mirror was a magnificent creation,

Bless the hands that crafted its fine lines,

She swayed to the left then, gazed at the reflection staring back at her,

An exquisite beauty, white sil

TEARS:

The mirror was a magnificent creation,

Bless the hands that crafted its fine lines,

She swayed to the left then, gazed at the reflection staring back at her,

An exquisite beauty, white silk draped around her waist,

A smile graced my lady’s red lips; as the glass showed her delicate hands,

White and soft, and beautiful like none other before her.

At last, my lady seemed to have her fill,

The servants prepared themselves for what was to come;

Sorrow; a fear, a rejection, misery,

A tear dropped; a hand withered,

A tear dropped; the limbs grew,

A tear dropped,

Skin collapsed, ugly, darkened, blisters rose.

A tear dropped,

Her fine being changed colors, eyes no longer could see the gaze of the mirror.

A tear dropped,

The finest of my lady, oh how cruel this magnificent curse was.

Written By; Soha Mehmood

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[ikhlaspoetry UpvoteUp3DownDownvote::]

Title: The Paradox Of Emptiness

In the depths of my soul,
perhaps, therein lies a hidden beauty,
waiting to be unleashed, unraveled and unveiled,
by the affection and love I have buried within me.

L

Title: The Paradox Of Emptiness

In the depths of my soul,
perhaps, therein lies a hidden beauty,
waiting to be unleashed, unraveled and unveiled,
by the affection and love I have buried within me.

Let me paint my past myself,
then decide whether you will leave or stay,
for the duality I hold will only burden you,
because I won’t be taking my mask off today.

No, this visard of my solitudes and sorrows shall remain etched upon my woeful face,
because I have been judged, misjudged and misunderstood by those who do not know,
that the wallflower I am lacks altruism and grace,
it encompasses self-destruction and soul-demolition, an ongoing flow.

So force me not to abolish this masquerade I keep up so persistently,
for I simply wish to drown in this melancholic abyss finally.

Written by: Manal Sarwar

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[Zoha_Leonard UpvoteUp7DownDownvote::]

Mask of Gold

I take my face off,
For the world won’t let me live.
As my tired soul,
Now wears a mask of gold.

I sit amongst the hypocrites,
They deny my existence.
I drew a new me,
A me

Mask of Gold

I take my face off,
For the world won’t let me live.
As my tired soul,
Now wears a mask of gold.

I sit amongst the hypocrites,
They deny my existence.
I drew a new me,
A me no one could ever recognize.

As I scribble about the attire I wear,
But what about my shoulders? About the burden it bears.
My petite body fights my demons,
The worldly desires leaves me high beaming.

The layers keep falling off of me,
I try to keep my calm and thee.
Dusty and crusty my life remains to be,
I try and try and try,
But the world won’t set me free.

– Zoha Leonard

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[Hiba Anwar UpvoteUp3DownDownvote::]

“And then,one day,sooner or later
We’ll be among the righteous!”

And then,one day sooner or later,
When we will both be on the same ground with the same boundaries,
From both having

“And then,one day,sooner or later
We’ll be among the righteous!”

And then,one day sooner or later,
When we will both be on the same ground with the same boundaries,
From both having the same status and rights, making sure to be the coolness of each other’s eyes, From exchanging warmth,laughter, and joy.
To you will be a little superior in the protection custody,
From a better spouse than me,
to giving me equal and just rights,

From listening to my opinions,
to letting me be superior, From never letting me experience my childhood trauma,
To supporting me in academics,
From wandering around the world,
To letting me nourish my soul,
and from making my dreams come true,
To become my precious man,
We have to go a long way man,

From helping me in making my career,
To never making me feel like a failure, From always cheering high above for me,
To painting whatever my soul desires.
We will become a righteous couple.

And then one day, When we return home from a very hectic day at work,
I’m going to cook to feed the taste buds of your mini creatures,
And you making sure to clean up afterward,
I’ll help the kids with their homework,
and then you can read with the little zombies,
And then when I help with basic chores,
you can put the kids to bed.

By:Hiba Anwar

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[seema.wasim UpvoteUp15DownDownvote::]

ONE STRIKE

An unbearable strike of unkind words was enough
It beheaded me and slit me of all my passion.
Injured my pure soul,portraying it all black
Provingyou hypocrites and me a future tale of pu

ONE STRIKE

An unbearable strike of unkind words was enough
It beheaded me and slit me of all my passion.
Injured my pure soul,portraying it all black
Provingyou hypocrites and me a future tale of purity
All night long i held my head in my hands
Thinking and thinking who am i
The righteous one as God Almighty knows
Or the guilty as you held me accountable.
Its you the hedious inside,not me,you filthy minds
Too anxious for the night to pass
So to portray myself on this white primed canvas
Me myself as pure and virteous as this canvas
You dont matter but God does and He will prove
My purity, virtuousness and innocence.
Now i am painting my inner self that will haunt you
Word by word,line by line its true shades inch by inch
Time will revenge you telling a tale
Of your hypocrisy and my innocence proved
Hypocrites,i leave it to God your fate is inevitable
BY : SEEMA WASIM.

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[fatimanaveed1999 UpvoteUp4DownDownvote::]

Title: Look For Me

Look for me when you can,

I’ll still be here doing the act.

The act of unknowns with a sweet little touch.

With doubt infused I became the master of twists.

Speak of me whe

Title: Look For Me

Look for me when you can,

I’ll still be here doing the act.

The act of unknowns with a sweet little touch.

With doubt infused I became the master of twists.

Speak of me when you can,

When I am gone with a peaceful bliss.

Someday for sure, I’ll get it covered.

With all my hopes and dreams for sure.

Think of me when you can.

Let me know that’s all I ask.

Is it too much to hope for now?

Should I be hopeful or just leave my crowd?

Dream of me when you can,

I still wonder about all the words.

I took too long and it slipped away.

So, yes it would be just that

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[areebajamil035 UpvoteUp3DownDownvote::]

Title: Mirror Mirror on the wall

Mirror mirror on the wall,
Can you stop or just halt?

This reflection that I see,
Is it worthy to be seen?

Do I cry or do I laugh?
Look at me, Oh my God

Mirror mir

Title: Mirror Mirror on the wall

Mirror mirror on the wall,
Can you stop or just halt?

This reflection that I see,
Is it worthy to be seen?

Do I cry or do I laugh?
Look at me, Oh my God

Mirror mirror on the way,
Tell me who’s the worst of all

Is it me or is it him?
Is this all the world I’m in?

Not to see, not to scream
So I shall just go to sleep

Not just now, not for the day
I shall perish for all it takes

Mirror mirror on the wall,
Tell me how to knock this down

Not the pain, not the hurt
This shall stay till I’m dirt

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[ibtesamahmed644 UpvoteUp2DownDownvote::]

‘Lovecraftian Standoff”

– Stars humming softly, a truth stalks nearby
Fold all other drives, let the wisp enter hereby

– The gloom in your eyes, each gentle demise
Let all de

‘Lovecraftian Standoff”

– Stars humming softly, a truth stalks nearby
Fold all other drives, let the wisp enter hereby

– The gloom in your eyes, each gentle demise
Let all demons pause, release all the wise

– In tatters and scatters, drop codes and decorum
Yearning prevails, it’s the soul or the forum

– Dive into words, grapple with the ether
With strokes and confessions, draw either and neither

– A new set of eyes, no glory, no prize
Humble is the night, for giants of each size

– With the moon as champion, let solitude govern
No flames, no emissions, just you in sojourn

– When the inner is speaking, breathe, listen, and ponder
You bottle the both; the master and blunder

– Surrender and conjure, behold what’s within
The softer the war, the deeper the win

– Leave your heart at the door, with coats of facade
Let it hurt, seal the glow, no need for en garde

– Lift the veil, lock your gaze with the self and reflection
The beings may be real, but the future is fiction

By Ibtesam Ahmed

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[mahrukhsaood2003 UpvoteUp3DownDownvote::]

Title: A Symphony of Sorrows

I’m tired, of all the pain, of all the sufferings
Crying, sobbing and begging
Tears are dried and heart is full
Mind is hazed and weary
As the day is hazed and eerie

Title: A Symphony of Sorrows

I’m tired, of all the pain, of all the sufferings
Crying, sobbing and begging
Tears are dried and heart is full
Mind is hazed and weary
As the day is hazed and eerie
Clouds are screaming with thunder
As the rain is streaming with wonder
There are voices inside my head
Telling me that it’s time
Voices suddenly are hushing down
As the blood in my heart is gushing
Time has stopped
As my soul has blocked the pain
Which is now a gain
Mumbling words out of my mouth
One last time that I say;
I’m tired, of all the pain, of all the sufferings

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[saad.hashim UpvoteUp2DownDownvote::]

Title: The Mirror In Me
I have been looking at you for years now
Untouched, still perfect after decades
Its always you I cherish, i look up to
What’s there for me in it?

I am on the other

Title: The Mirror In Me
I have been looking at you for years now
Untouched, still perfect after decades
Its always you I cherish, i look up to
What’s there for me in it?

I am on the other side
Carrying my scars, imperfections
Why you show me, who I am not
Why don’t you show, ME?

The heart still beats everyday
Keeps me alive for all the unfulfilled dreams
What if we switch places someday
You’d be on this side and I am there in your utopic world

How can you be here on my side
After all it is me who created you
I can broke myself into pieces not you
I can’t shatter you

You are the hope
I stand in front of you
To see what I can be
How can I not love you, as you are the mirror in me.

BY SAAD HASHIM

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[esha.ahmad UpvoteUp2DownDownvote::]

Plucky to Peek

From the abyss that gazes upon him
Latches to his melancholic head
Through faded scars on haunted cheeks
A frail bouquet of hope he seeks
Plucky to peek into his tormented soul
To fo

Plucky to Peek

From the abyss that gazes upon him
Latches to his melancholic head
Through faded scars on haunted cheeks
A frail bouquet of hope he seeks
Plucky to peek into his tormented soul
To follow the traces, the truths unveiled
In twisted tapestry of unstructured thoughts
Yearning to decode fable of his spirit
When muffled whispers stirred his intuition
To catch a vision of bold mysteries
To make a move, to stake the gamble
He breathed life into his portrait on canvas

– Esha Ahmad

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[subhanzahid155 UpvoteUp1DownDownvote::]

The Referee of Your Reverie

You thought you’d hide, or raise a pen
Sketch out a world, without me then

Who draws your lines, who moves your hand
Who whispers doubt, who makes you stand

I see

The Referee of Your Reverie

You thought you’d hide, or raise a pen
Sketch out a world, without me then

Who draws your lines, who moves your hand
Who whispers doubt, who makes you stand

I see you flinch, a worthless hack
Don’t hang that piece, don’t dare look back

What lives you’ve smeared upon this wall
Each stroke a lie, a futile call

Look closer now, the canvas bleeds
It tears apart your heart, your needs

The face you see, distorted, grim
Is not your own but mine within

For I am judge, the better friend
Who knows your faults, and how you bend

I’ll shatter you, forget the art
I’ll tear apart your fragile heart

This is my joy, my recompense
To keep you small, to make no sense

You’ll never leave, you’re bound to me
The referee of your reverie

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[noor.rehman khawer UpvoteUp2DownDownvote::]

How many forms can hope take
Before it lines the pavement?
How many gutted dreams, painted over till
The canvas needs replacement?

I am less than echo, poor facsimile of youth
I find I anticipate i

How many forms can hope take
Before it lines the pavement?
How many gutted dreams, painted over till
The canvas needs replacement?

I am less than echo, poor facsimile of youth
I find I anticipate it:
The shock, the pity, as I try to mask
I fail and replicate it

Desperate in the shadows now
I hide each spark, match, lit fuse
My God, could I once, too, pretend
that I had nothing left to lose?

Not envy, but stagnation tinges green the form
Shadowed, sequestered, I stay still in hope
If I draw enough blood, marrow, bone
Could I bait back potential on my gallow’s rope?

No muse, no siren calls as strong, a life wasted sings persistent
The mockery only in my head, locks out all sense, resistant
So offer willingly, do I, the tithes to a fleeting life:
The fear of an ever ticking clock, a stained, shaking pallete knife.

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[muhammad munhib.shah UpvoteUp1DownDownvote::]

The Face-Maker

hunched over,
scrunched over; broken wire
like a round, broken, spine–you–
So I thought
he is constipation
and my mother said
he is broken
and my friend said
he is dying, d

The Face-Maker

hunched over,
scrunched over; broken wire
like a round, broken, spine–you–
So I thought
he is constipation
and my mother said
he is broken
and my friend said
he is dying, dead, cold–a corpse–

and he hobbled, wobbled, bobbled
and from his teeth hung
the face he wore
like a loaf of blood
and soul–
the dripping eel
of my heart
as it wrenched out–
like your teeth,
ever sea deep in my neck.

Muhammad Munhib Shah
27-4-2024

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[gunhead UpvoteUp5DownDownvote::]

The perfection of self

Woe to my pathetic form,
Woe to being born,
Look not upon the filth I may be,
But what I dearly want you to see.
Oh, if I could grasp the brush of my making,
I’d wrench it

The perfection of self

Woe to my pathetic form,
Woe to being born,
Look not upon the filth I may be,
But what I dearly want you to see.
Oh, if I could grasp the brush of my making,
I’d wrench it from the Lord himself,
tear his fingers, face his wrath,
So be it!
To be created as I am,
is a sin no doubt!
Make me anew, free of flaw!
Bless me, his hair conceived
from the delicate warmth of the sun
His wisdom, his love,
Woe to my pathetic form, a man so pure is false!
Still, how is it that the sorry sin I am
created such an angel?
What, from my aching vain desires?
Say no, it is not so,
that such anguish birthed such beauty?

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[faiqa.chughtai UpvoteUp14DownDownvote::]

Rib – Hammer – Love

I was made out of rib,
crooked, untrained,
glittering in the night,
musk in the rain.

They hammered with love,
straightened my spine,
a body defiant,
with thoughts mi

Rib – Hammer – Love

I was made out of rib,
crooked, untrained,
glittering in the night,
musk in the rain.

They hammered with love,
straightened my spine,
a body defiant,
with thoughts misaligned.

Now I hold my own face,
a stranger’s design,
drawing myself-
piece by piece, line by line.

When they say I’m red,
I paint with my blood;
when they say I’m blue,
I drown in the flood.

In the clash of colors,
I claim what is true
a spirit unbound,
reborn and renewed.

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[SQ.writes UpvoteUp14DownDownvote::]

Title: Masquerade

They greet shoulder to shoulder,
smiles wide but eyes devoid of emotion.

They gather at the dinner table,
planning a grand feast, lighting candles—
Only to blow them out as they

Title: Masquerade

They greet shoulder to shoulder,
smiles wide but eyes devoid of emotion.

They gather at the dinner table,
planning a grand feast, lighting candles—
Only to blow them out as they bid farewell.

A man, eager to share his small world with someone,
Unaware that it will be burned to the ground.

The cost of trusting too much.
And when all is lost, he’ll be left with nothing but grey ashes,
Slipping like dust through his fingers,
Carried away by the wind,
Never to return.

– SQ.

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[hrauf615 UpvoteUp9DownDownvote::]

kicking it off with something I wrote a while back:

Title: The Face Store

I stopped at the store today,
was looking for a new face.

Strolling through the aisles,
I keenly perused the displ

kicking it off with something I wrote a while back:

Title: The Face Store

I stopped at the store today,
was looking for a new face.

Strolling through the aisles,
I keenly perused the displays.

There amongst a thousand,
I found a familiar look,

I passed it over, and picked,
the cheap blank face, off the hook.

By Hassan Rauf

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