When I first heard about it, I thought I was in a nightmare, That I would wake up any second, and you would still be here....
Poems forever
By Emily Dickinson
As if some little Arctic flower,
Upon the polar hem,
Went wandering down the latitudes,
Until it puzzled came
To continents of summer,
To firmaments of sun,
To strange, bright crowds of flowers,
And birds of foreign tongue!
I say, as if this little flower
To Eden wandered in —
What then? Why, nothing, only,
Your inference therefrom!
By Zahra Zafar
When I first heard about it, I thought I was in a nightmare,
That I would wake up any second, and you would still be here.
I would listen to your voice again, and everything would be fine,
Put all of my faith in the hope that you won’t leave us all behind.
But I had to bury my faith and hope along with you, dear,
now all that is left are the remnants of my fears.
Sometimes I wish I knew our last goodbye was forever.
Your life was a candlelight, flickering in the wind of terror.
And the sun still shines its rays, and days pass in a blur.
When midnight falls around me, I only think about you.
I can’t help but wonder while my heart is all sundered:
Would it change anything if things happened a bit differently?
If you didn’t go away that day, if it didn’t rain that night,
Or if you were at a different place at a different time,
Would you be alive? Would you be alive? Would you be alive?
Now you are in the stars and in heaven, but so far away.
We will always remember you, and your memories will stay.
By Abid Agha
At the last table of the dining car,
my coffee cup rests —
steam rising softly,
its warmth spreading through the air.
The train glides on, almost noiseless,
as if careful not to disturb my thoughts.
Outside, scenes pass in a quiet rush:
snow-capped peaks glowing under a pale sun,
children shaping laughter into snowmen,
white joy against a moving world.
Then the music begins —
low, timeless, familiar —
Last Christmas, I gave you my heart…
George Michael fills the carriage,
and suddenly, so do you.
I’m carried back to a local café,
last Christmas — your unexpected invite,
a brief meeting meant to be ordinary.
But some moments arrive lightly
and stay forever: a shared smile,
coffee cooling between words,
eyes saying what time would not allow.
The train keeps moving,
the song slowly fades,
steam thins into memory —
yet that short meeting lingers,
warm and unfinished,
like a heart once offered
and never fully returned.
A sudden whistle cuts the air —
the train pulls me back to my own world,
where the coffee has gone cold
and Christmas lives only
in passing songs
and quiet seats.
