The healer!

Shall I not devote my heart,

To the One who holds the mountains firm,

And a myriad of stars in perfect constellations..

For my heart is made of glass..

With a thousands cracks running through..

-Hira Chaudhry

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Borders

They say they created borders, to divide the land..

To make it secure..

Ironic, they ended up dividing the people..

Making love obscure..

Lost

They place, one wound after another..

Sword after sword..

I bleed, from my chest and my eyes..

But I don’t scream..

Numb, I stare, far into the desert..

Still searching..

For something to live for, to fight back..

Volatile

I run through the cold nights, barefeet..

Cheeks kissed by ice demons..

Searching every park and lake..

I see you in everything, for a moment..

Then you disappear, with the fog I exhale..

Dad

For years I tried,

in the middle of the night..

At a lonely lake…

On a summer morning..

With a cup of tea…

Looking through pictures..

Going through your books..

Smelling your shirt..

Giving away your bike..

but failed to put you

in words..

Gangrene

“As doctors we’re taught, when a part of our body becomes gangrenous (body tissue dies due to loss of blood supply), we have to surgically remove it.. Right?” he asked looking at the scalpel in his hand shining in it’s glory..

“Yeah, that’s right! Even if it’s your right arm.. Else, it will spread to your whole body and damage vital organs!” the surgeon kept his gaze fixed on the dead body, collecting evidence for the autopsy..

“But, what if it is a vital organ that you cannot possibly survive without?” he leaned over the body, placing his hand on it’s exposed heart.

“What are you even talking about?” his gaze shifted to the resident’s face, which was paller than the one on the table.

“Nothing.. I guess we have to figure out some things on our own,” he said as he walked out of the room firmly holding the scalpel.

“Well, God’s created this miracle of a body meticulously.. We human beings have this amazing ability to survive, even if it’s cancer.. But sometimes, we don’t!

Look at the sky, dark and hollow… How many lives did you engulf to become this dark and gloomy? How many nights I spent looking at you, shedding silent tears? But who will cry for me, if I don’t survive? No one.

My heart is my biggest enemy… How long will I hold on to a gangrene? Tonight I’ll rip it out and see what happens, either it will adapt or perish.”

He raised the scalpel to his chest as water started pouring over his head.

That night, the sky cried for him with all it’s might.

Knitted

Blood turned white,

Love dark and impure..

Knitted in my soul

Are scars I can’t endure..

-Hiraa