Poems forever
By Patrick Kavanagh
On an apple-ripe September morning
Through the mist-chill fields I went
With a pitch-fork on my shoulder
Less for use than for devilment.
The threshing mill was set-up, I knew,
In Cassidy’s haggard last night,
And we owed them a day at the threshing
Since last year. O it was delight
To be paying bills of laughter
And chaffy gossip in kind
With work thrown in to ballast
The fantasy-soaring mind.
As I crossed the wooden bridge I wondered
As I looked into the drain
If ever a summer morning should find me
Shovelling up eels again.
By Memoona Mukhtar
I failed once again.
"Oh, they'll call me a loser."
These thoughts are killing me.
My head aches, my body frozen,
Tears roll down my cheeks.
There’s darkness everywhere,
Inside me and outside the window.
They'll hate me, they'll laugh at me.
These thoughts are killing me.
My phone is ringing, my door knocking.
Standing in front of the mirror,
Someone called me—
"Dear self,"
Someone within advised me—
"Dear self, stay strong."
I smiled and wiped the tears.
My story isn’t over,
It's still unfolding.
Someday, I’ll tell you
How I learned to succeed,
Through all the mistakes in life.
Until then,
Stay blessed!
By Amna Ameer
I’ve been living my life
Like a dirty secret.
Whatever I’ve touched
Is already tarnished.
Whatever I’ve kept
Is deemed stolen.
The house I’ve tried to build
Has turned to ashes.
All of the ways I could live
Have been marred with death
Those who promised me a family
Only want me to sit
On the mantle shelf,
A trophy—
Without a voice
Or a mind of my own.
I long for a place to be myself,
A desire to feel at home.
I haven’t laughed like I used to
In the longest time
I’ve been living how I’m supposed to,
Yet there’s no memory
I can call mine.
There are only secret pockets,
Hidden from the world.
For they only want me
To remain perfectly mute,
Not have any moment of joy or glee
To only provide service
With a smile
Never letting them know
How bad it feels—
And that they are the reason why.
I wonder,
Is this what it all comes down to?
To be satisfied with half-baked promises
And almost-complete feelings.
To live like a shadow
Of the person
I used to be.
