Email: mariyam224@gmail.com
Photo credit: Antonina Bukowska
Flowers
By Mariyam Thahira
So what if your past is ugly?
Derive lessons from every encounter,
and let them nourish further
the process of transforming thee
to who you aspire
to really be.
For, from the dirtiest
of mud, exclusively
do the most elegant
of flowers rise beautifully.
Photo credit: Tarek Roumie
Refugee’s Plight
By Mariyam Thahira
Envision your land
that had nurtured flowers,
graceful and kind-hearted,
suddenly being invaded
by insects, of sympathy, devoid.
Envision the peaceful doves,
who above thee once flew,
being shot indiscriminately.
Envision the sky which was once permeated
with rainbows, brightly tinted,
abruptly being confined
by clouds, rayless and cold,
that sprinkle bombs without any end.
Envision the fresh grassy garden
where you first cherished the scent of rain,
being converted into a graveyard,
of memories that can never be recreated.
Envision those mighty walls,
who protection to you: guaranteed
and a safe haven: offered,
being effortlessly destroyed
as you watch through helpless eyes.
Envision yourself being forced
to safeguard your dear ones
despite the delicacy of your bones.
Envision your participation
in a warfare, sans another option,
as you defend an innocent nation,
unarmed, unprotected and unaided,
but with an invincible determination.
Every time your heart
refuses to defend refugees
remind yourself of this poetic art
that encourages your conscience
to envision their lives.
Photo credit: Ismael Nieto
Graveyard
“Life isn’t a bed”,
they said,
“of roses, red.”
“Instead,” I concluded,
“it’s a graveyard,
of souls.. dead,
absorbed in the activity
of destroying the rest,
of whatever humanity
is somewhat left.
For some people symbolise
decomposers.
They constantly crave
for corpses.”
Photo credit: Ajmal Cholakkal
Urban Loneliness
By Mariyam Thahira
Restless, I feel,
watching wings flutter,
birds soar,
leaves rustle,
and kids bustle,
beneath me.
Low, I often feel,
although at the highest floor,
do I actually reside.
Nature is away,
much beyond my touch,
maybe, that’s why.
Photo credit: Hoach Le Dinh
Raincloud
By Mariyam Thahira
I could never understand
why I always preferred
to be the cloud of doom
that looms
over my loved one,
when I could’ve, instead,
burst open and released
all the pain
that I’ve been hiding for years
and relieved both of us
of the burden of my bottled emotions
that’s been blocking the path
through which that fine thread
of love used to traverse,
which connects both our hearts.
Photo credit: Annie Spratt
My Baby
By Mariyam Thahira
I nurse every emotion
that I get to experience
within the crevice
of my broken being
I cover it within layers of darkness
protect it from this wretched universe
nourish it with all my benevolence
and punish it with my insecurities
But I always agree
to carry the burden
it sometimes proves to be
without a word of complaint
on my slumped shoulders
and creased forehead
until it is ready
Ready to face its own future
in the form of poetry
that I then entrust pieces of paper
to manage with mercy