I WRITE MY HEART OUT

 Between Life and Loss:  My Cousin’s Battle with Schizophrenia His body blanched, swollen, his son recognized him by the shoes he wore. “Yes, this is my father”. They had been looking for him for some time. It was a new neighbourhood , unfamiliar territory. The wife wanted a better life, so they moved to this place from the village. He must have slipped and drowned. It couldn’t have been suicide. My cousin Sheikh Wali was more than just a corpse. One night he quizzed us-about a flower that was also a vegetable. We failed and he at the end answered, cauliflower. He came to live with us and helped us with our studies when it was exam time. He taught me how to write, drawing letters and numbers in black ink for me to fill them with the color of my choice. He had the most crystal-clear blue eyes, wide and big. His beard was reddish in tone. Tall, thin, handsome man with good hygiene, clean clothes, I still remember his scent. On my birthday in Class 5 he brought two cakes for my fellows. H

 She sipped on hope, but the taste turned bitter, Left the cup half-full, her heart even emptier. Summer breeze made her leave her work to have a cup of coffee to compensate for all the cold cups. She had a few sips and left the mug when having a coffee was all her pleasure. The reason for looking outside the window is to calm the thunder inside the room.

 We come into this world all alone, And leave it behind, with no one to own. Families are meant to guide and care, To lift us up and always be there. But when support fades and love feels weak, The bonds we had start to feel bleak. Without a comforting touch or kind word, Family’s true meaning becomes unheard. Sitting each day with fake family smiles, At a table where warmth is just in style, It’s better to share a simple cup of coffee With a stranger who’s real, but not who were once a best friend  For in those moments of genuine exchange, You find more truth than in pretenses arranged. True connection beats the hollow cheer, When real bonds are what you truly hold dear.

It was so dark, so dark that I couldn’t see my sins. It was so blue that the oceans filled with tears. It was pure white, and only purity was expected from the world. Why couldn’t it be green, so all could prosper in positivity? I thought it was yellow until they left, leaving scars forever. I miss the pink in me, all my youthful energy. But the world sees me in black, shrouded in an aura of no return. It is dark, so dark that I can no longer see my sins.  ~TK

In the calm of the night, I find my peace, A world of my own where thoughts never cease. Half my life spent in the glow of the moon, Where struggles and sighs are a silent tune. In darkness, I ponder the past and the morrow, For the present is fleeting, often filled with sorrow. I watch loved ones sleep, in tranquility deep, And pray for their peace, a promise to keep. At night, I am true, to myself I confess, Living for me, free from daylight’s duress. In sunlight, I vanish, my essence concealed, Bright days bring a world where nothing feels real. Fake smiles and greetings, dusty desks in a row, Daytime’s a stage where insincerities show. I yearn for the night, where my true self can soar, For by day, I’m a stranger, lost in life’s chore. Nights teach me lessons, in silence so grand, As soon as dawn breaks, I’m lost in this land. The sun frightens me with its blinding light, Too many falsehoods, but at night, I find might. My sleep has been stolen, yet still I must fight, For the day

In a busy home where many generations lived together, we were born into a joint family system. Here, family values weren't just taught; they were the very air we breathed. From the moment we could walk, we learned the importance of family. Growing up with brothers, we often acted like them, sometimes forgetting how to be women, even though we were fragile and sensitive. As the only girls in such a household, the weight of responsibility settled on our shoulders early on. Our own choices were rarely prioritized; the family's needs always came first. Whether it was about our school or work, hanging out with friends, traveling, or even driving a car, every decision required the entire family's approval. Respecting family choices, even when it meant hiding our pain, was normal. Regardless of whether our relatives were on good terms with our parents, we had to respect and participate in family events to keep the peace. The values we grew up with meant we had to show respect to e

My heart is Echoes of the Mountains,  A Cry for Justice.  My heart is heavy, shadows everywhere,
 Injustice, unfairness, inhumanity in the air.
 Not bound by race, yet racism it’s called,
 My heart bleeds, my spirit appalled. For my Pashtoon community, I weep and cry,
In the land of mountains,  where hopes should fly.
 My voice shivers, expressing the pain, 
Of Wazir family, enduring endless strain. Mountains calling, now mountains cry,
 Echoing our anguish to the sky.
 Why us? Why Pashtuns, why this fate?
 Oh motherland, your love innate. Protected we stand, yet suffering we bear,
 Injustice surrounds us, life so unfair.
 Why us? We ask, with hearts worn thin, 
Seeking solace, strength from within. In the name of Gilamaan Wazir,  we stand tall,
Facing adversities,  together we call.
For justice, for peace,  for our community’s right,
 In the echoes of mountains,  we continue our fight. A Cry for Justice,  My heart is Echoes of the Mountains.