Black butterfly

Why are we still scared of the dark?

Isn’t black inviting, drawing everything in..

There’s a certain mystery to it,

Concealing all things dark in it’s heart..

Making everything bright glow brighter…

There’s a black butterfly at my door,

Should I let it in?

Cursed..

Cursed is the one,

Who feels and feels deeply..

In a world, made of nothing

but stone.

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

Behold

Been to the mountains of Everest,

and grasses evergreen..

My mother’s wrinkled hands,

the prettiest sight

I’ve ever seen..

Kayaking

On a moonlit night, listening to stories untold…

Or a warm summer morning, like melted gold..

The rusty old shoes, the same necklace of pearls..

The same old songs and her hair in perfect curls..

In the deafening peace of a snowy winter night..

The clock ticked louder, reminding of it’s might..

But everything at the sea was forever changing..

Change is life, thus the old man loved kayaking..

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..