Mud houses

Mud Houses

the houses
in my paradise
are rusty, muddy,
broken and hurt..

our houses have seen
years of turmoil
they are bloodied,
exploited by time..

i reminisce my hometown,
when i see the glimpses
of merry houses on hills,
and hustling markets around..

i remember our naivety
humility,
our poverty and pain..

i feel the mothers'
wounded hearts,
shrouded dead, graves
and erroded lives..

in all this,
i recall the smell
of my soil,
its marks my identity,
my soul
and my ultimate refuge!

Tanzila

It takes..

it takes..

it takes a lonely heart,
to romance loss,
to envy failure,
to want exclusion,
to hope solitude,
to despise acceptance
and periodic gestures of love!

it takes a broken heart,
to memorize past,
to surpass stereotype,
to challenge the normal,
to look beyond the regular,
to stay cynical!

it takes a brave heart,
to survive,
despite every day,
every circumstance,
weighing you down!
it takes a miracle,
to live through nights,
of reclusion and pain.
reminiscing the dead,
the gone and the mysterious!

to me, it takes a few words,
to express,
and expire the same time,
with the same intensity,
the feelings of regret!

Tanzila