She saw in me an intensity, unwithered
and boundless, a red of sorts
redder than most Reds.
And when the sea turned blue,
the urchins camped out at night
waiting for me to heal.
© Fiza Arshad, 2017 All rights reserved.
“Today, my words seemed to have dried up. My imagination still hooked up on a passing thought from the other day, and so I share something old. Something old and something new. Recurring.”
Sometimes words get lost among other words,
letters, phrases, caps lock, dopamine, glitter.
They live in the synaptic cleft, axon
terminal, dendritic receptor.
Or perhaps within the ever flexible spines
that morph and reshape and morph and reshape and morph
like the people that you meet daily.
Those who are welcoming one day
and withdrawn the next.
She smiled and talked, continuously, about herself.
Selfish, self-centred, self-oriented, shallow self.
She gave me a head-to-head, serious face, look-over.
Selfish, self-centred, self-oriented, materialistic self.
She seemed abrupt, cold, aloof.
Selfish, self-centred, self-oriented, sanctimonious self.
She didn’t say hello; looked the other way; had a no-smile, maybe-mad face.
Who needs her? Her glitter, Her alphabets.
Selfish, self-centred, self-oriented self.
© Fiza Arshad, 2016 All rights reserved
when the light refuses to let go
of its luminescence, not wanting
a part of darkness that sustains
the junkie down the street
the rich kid living in Roman splendor –
bee hive being robbed of its honey.
And then there were days
where I sought Sorrow because they
told me otherwise “You won’t understand.”
© Fiza Arshad, 2016 All rights reserved.
In search of acceptance
loyalty and forgiveness
are we forgetting the essence
The meaning of self-worth.
Where we don’t define Identity
through Insta popularity
Your perspective is not mine.
© Copyright 2015
Lodges and shops in the village, built
in a European style, shine like pin-pricks
of hope that exists one minute and blurs the next.
Trust in destiny taut during an inhale and loose on the exhale.
Delight in the little things in life burns in a crowd,
and dies in isolation.
Aspirations for a better future flare in prosperity,
and wither in poverty.
Yet the hollowness on the inside persists.
© Copyright 2015