I burn stars over
prophets weep naked.
© Fiza Arshad, 2017 All rights reserved.
Leaves swirl around a black jeep
parked – inconspicuously waiting –
where red meets orange
and failures aspire high,
beyond the clouds waiting to rain.
It’s November – the wind cracks skin
already worn out from life.
© Fiza Arshad, 2016 All rights reserved