THE BRIDGE

Forbidden Regret by Dirha Qazi - Pakistan

Vision obscured

And a mind of fog,

A faith composed of doubts

And threats,

And a counsel of friends -

Unable to control,

Unable to defend,

The crime,

I later named ‘Regret’.

I remember there were, a few more,

Who contributed, who let

The Macbeth in me drown

And the Hamlet in me take

The most unwise decisions,

The most foul resolves...

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Unsworn Promise by Dirha Qazi - Pakistan

The sun is offended

Will it rise again?

The darkness illuminates

Is it here to stay?

The last laughter echoed

A hundred years ago,

Will someone laugh

Ever in here again?...

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Man and Nature: An unremitting apparatus by Dirha Qazi - Pakistan

It is this reciprocality

of synthesis and elimination

between asylee and defender  

where each owes its very existence,

to the other

and keeps holding up this System.

Take example of a food chain;

Nature produces what Man consumes

or Man utilizes what Nature produces

both being

the ends of this chain...

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Orange Autumn: Season of Divinity by Dirha Qazi - Pakistan

I adore Autumn while the world awaits spring;

I adore the compulsion that every single thing

Has to attain the garb,

And contrast

With one color of the Autumn,

The Orange mark!

Where even leaves are finally

Forced to abandon

Their customary patterns

And shades of green…

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Orphan by Dirha Qazi - Pakistan

Oxygen cylinders were standing at the doorway of Neeta’s house that was closed for 2 months. Neeta dusted off the handle with her napkin and unlocked the door. The lounge was all dim and hushed. The first thing her eyes got on were the masks spread on the dining table. Neeta closed the door and...

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The Revelation by Dirha Qazi - Pakistan

Belonging to an overcrowded urban city of Punjab,  the opportunity to spend approximately two months up in the mountains of Alazmir in mid of year was always unexhangeable. I had finished my graduation with English language and now was just another writer employed nowhere which was an inevitable by-product of English major in most of the cases, and yet I cherished it. The fun of being an unemployed writer was firstly that there was no payment, therefore no rush. You would only write what and when the right energy hit you and then the work produced would forever be authentic and pleasing. Secondly, I could take out time to trace my inspirations in various places and among various people; something freelance writers wouldn’t get time for. Every year, between July and August, I’d move up North with a friend or two, who would depart within a week and I’d stay back at my Mount Helicon to seek invocation...

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Nostalgic Euphoria by Dirha Qazi - Pakistan

Today it smelled

just like the Air of Naran, as if the mist,

 it carried, sublimated right from the valley of Kaghan.

and the soft touch of its twirling wind transported

my spirits in past,

as if Elysian fairies had cast an incantation,

with the purpose to outlast,

my finite existence...

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Faith by Dirha Qazi - Pakistan

What is faith to me, how do I put it?

Where do I begin? The meaning or it’s value to me.

How it’s so invisible, but how there’s not a place or

A spot, or a sensory experience,

Where my eyes do not see, where my senses do not meet

Where my heart doesn’t greet, where the mind doesn’t breed

It’s Essence...

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A Drop of my Heart Escaped my Existence ! by Dirha Qazi - Pakistan

A drop of my Heart escaped my existence.

Burgeoning, expanding, embracing the ambience

Crawling upwards, Pushing against the bars;

Dancing and laughing upon the world’s Transience

Escaping, as if nothing ever held it in past...

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