Month: December 2019

In the library
A girl holding a book.
“The Hunger Games” It read.
The girl held it
And read the summary
Smile on her face.

She turned to go check it out
“Just this one?” a woman asked.
She had dark hair in a braid.
She looked like a movie star.
“Yes please” The girl said grinning.
“This is a story I think you’ll like”
There was a pause that lasted
Forever
As the woman scanned the book.
“There you go” The woman said.

As the girl left
She spotted behind the table
A bow and arrow.

There are bells ringing
people are singing
long lines
all the time

family comes
all kinds of traditions
happen on this day
from all over the world

gifts are given
smiles on faces
empty stomaches are like
santa after this day

when it ends
familys slight deflate
but it is a day
to remember

A hand
F
L
Y
I
N
G

across the paper
Pencil in hand
Trying to influence
Trying to make a stand
Color on the paper
And on my hand

Sculpting figures
Out of clay
Out of paper
I can do this all day

“Ring”!
That’s all for today

The child lay down,
The monster was still,
He wanted to say hi,
The child knew he was real.

The monster was different,
He was the child’s age,
The monster just wanted a friend,
But the child raged.

The child wanted a “normal” friend,
One like you and me,
The child didn’t want the monster,
The monster was told to flee.

The next day at school,
The child saw some peers,
The ones that were like you and me,
The child looked over at their sneers.

They were better than the monster,
So the child went to talk,
They looked at him when he approached,
Before he could speak, they started to mock.

The child felt hopeless,
He felt weak,
Before he knew what was happening,
The air began to speak.

It told the bullies to leave,
The child was still,
And that’s when the monster knew,
The child was real.

I am from Pakistan
where gunshots are fired when birth happens
like a war zone.
I am from the schoolyard.
(Scary, frightening
on a very hot day.)
I am from Lady Margaret Hall
where I fought for girl’s rights,
but they never listened.

I am from two brothers,
from Atal and Khushal.
I am from Ziauddin and Toor Yousafzai
and the land of gunfire BOOM.
From”your opinion is stupid!” and They’ll never listen!”
I am from Grandfather
who helped me with my opinion
and saw a lot of pride.

I am from the bus where I got shot,
“Are you ok”
“Stay with us”
and rushed to the hospital.
From the inspirational speeches
of never giving up, The
Noble peace award.

The school that I missed.
Recovering from the hit, that
changed my life.
Who shared the love with me and my thoughts
and told me not to give up
I am from the land I love
called Pakistan.

At the beach the graceful waves
constantly crash on the cream colored sand,
I’m wearing my glasses to block out the bright sun

as I go down the wooden boardwalk the sun
burns my skin while my family waves
to me from the glowing sand,

i step onto the soft sand
heated by the burning sun
then rush into the glistening waves,

sand rubbing my skin, waves against my chest, the sun shines down from above.

there I was with my best friend
my one and only
we would laugh and play
he’d follow me around like a magnet
just as it was meant to be

but…
as time passed we grew older
we were not as close
we made different friends–
our personal belongings that the other could not touch
just as it was meant to be

we tried to keep them for ourselves
but our friends took different paths
and once again, all that was left was us
just as it was meant to be

Brothers.

the beautiful oak standing tall
sunlight pouring down onto it
it’s vines tangled around the stem
it’s branches reaching out and away

the roots clawing themselves into the ground
Keeping the oak standing tall
it’s leaves as green as the color itself

Old oak, standing tall
with red and orange leaves falling, and drifting away
From the crisp autumn winds

Old oak. Standing at its tallest
Being at its oldest
With no leaves left
WIth no life left

you can try and make it go away
the ghost of your past, present, and future has come to stay
you can ignore or even fight
but the second it steps into your life, it will not let you out of sight

sometimes it might go away for a second or even a day,
but you know deep down it will always stay
it makes your stomach ache and it hurts your head
it makes you rethink any choice, even something you said

your ghost can be helpful sometimes too
because this ghost isn’t like the ones that say “boo”
i have chosen to just ignore mine
but you can choose a different path, that’s your story to define

There was once a branch, the branch I walk past everyday.
I always notice how tight it holds on to the tree in every way.
But no matter how tight it grasps the tree,
It could jump to the ground any day like a kid scraping his knee.

The branch is beautiful, it looks like a flower on a sunny day.
It has dark smooth brown bark,
and every color leaf you could imagine.
I watch as it slowly dances in the wind.

One stormy day as I pass by the tree,
I stop, because the branch was staring at me.
Watching the branches sway side to side,
Until all of a sudden, BOOM! Lightning cried
and strikes the branch to suddenly drop.

I watch as the leafs slowly fall off and
the branch loses the color over time,
It looks like the sky on a gloomy day.
Now every morning I pass by the tree
I remember the beautiful branch,
and I will never forget the day it fell.