SOME PAINTED WALLS.

These walls of my room
Had been very gracious to me
For they have witnessed all
Almost every breakdown of mine
Times, ripples touch the floor
Times, they stood as a support
Times, I lay unspoken unheard
I talk to them and they talk back
We keep staring each other.  .  .
These walls resemble My heart
Nothing goes out tumults comes in
Making me restless, want to burst
All at once, for now, I fear of an outbreak.
Times I tried, I tried!
I myself was the culprit for
Torturing my own humble soul.
 These walls have been  generous
Times I lay down with torment
despair, fear, pain. When
Nerves are tired and tampered
I stare them, they stare me back
With such closeness we spend
Many insomniac nights
Many dark sunny days
Rains and thunders
Everything . . .
Ripples on floor
These walls always embrace
my tortured, scattered soul.
These walls are at least mine
I own something in this cruel world
So what if they are some painted walls!


Asna Azhar

LOATH MY PRETTY FACE

Look close and loath this pretty face.

It is ugly from outside to inside,
trending for sharp edges,
It is blunt, callous, dark
horrible, devastating 
apparently, nearly,
dearly,
always enchanting, embracing 
passerby, It's a home of
haunted nuances,
scars that bleed, 
they'd scare you,
they'd bleed to death.
eyes deep , lips full of life
smudged by ashes.
Ashes, grey black ; smoke.
boom! damned soul.
This is a loathsome face
Don't fall for It's pretty edges.

Asna Azhar

I lie unspoken
facing the menacing light of roof
Within these familiar
walls
staring at me
like death
In my head demons dance,
Outside,
 in the streets children yell
The fan slices the dead air.
I
hear its buzz.
What does it
feel like? 
I know it
somehow you all are celebrating
My despair.
~ ASNA AZHAR 

MAY 10, 2016.

DEAD HOMES

And one day
I will walk out of
This hell of sweet chaos
Where my soul is manacled,
Drenched to the core
In pain, remorseful
Sorrows of an
Unabated will of
Wretched humans.
Perhaps, the truth is
I have nowhere to go.
The home is destroyed
The home is vanquished
The home, my home, a home
  - was home.
Now, a graveyard of smiles
Which haunts more than
It pays.
And one day I will
Walk out of this hell- home
To the mountains of peace.
~ASNA AZHAR