Triangles

He loved triangles, so he decided to gift me one..

Ever since I’m enclosed in it, always on a run..

On one end there’s love, and birds and a pair of rings..

On other end there’s hate, and a pair of broken wings..

I stand on the third end, while it tears my soul apart..

You stand on each end, staring at my broken heart..

©Hira Chaudhry

®Image courtesy: Fine Art America

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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..

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.

Broken

“I am broken”, she resisted..

“And I’m a mechanic,

Spent my whole life fixing things”, he insisted..

“Did you ever fix a living tragedy”? she asked..

“There’s always a first time”, he reassured!

Poets

I pour my pain to ink,

Delinquently it flows on the paper..

They read and say, “Beautiful!”

Ironic…

Run!

“In my dreams; I run, I run far away… From all those thoughts, that leave me astray..

From all those I love, for whom I cry and pray…

In my dreams; I stop, I stop and reflect back… At all the broken pieces piercing through a sack..

At all the fallen leaves that wince and crack…

In my dreams; I run, I run to a mountain.. Nevertheless in vain..

There’s no running away, for it resides inside me,,

I tear apart my chest, and find a spark and pain…”