Love long has taken for his amulet One perfect rose... Why is it no one ever sent me yet One perfect limousine...
By Dorothy Parker
A single flow’r he sent me, since we met.
All tenderly his messenger he chose;
Deep-hearted, pure, with scented dew still wet—
One perfect rose.
I knew the language of the floweret;
“My fragile leaves,” it said, “his heart enclose.”
Love long has taken for his amulet One perfect rose.
Why is it no one ever sent me yet One perfect limousine,
do you suppose? Ah no, it’s always just my luck to get
One perfect rose.
Maryam Iftikhar
With every breath
I desire you beside me.
Tucking my hair, holding my hand,
I treasure all these feelings inside me.
Dreaming of endless devotion in your eyes as you smile at me.
What else would love be?
I sigh, my heart craves your affection,
My eyes seek your infinite reflection,
My soul aches for you Like a shadow waiting for light,
This vulnerable soul is nothing—
just an honour to be loved by you.
What else would love be?
The earth spins as it always has,
The sun rises just the same, The moon still finds the night,
Yet my heart has lost its rhythm.
Oh love, My world has lost its colour without you,
See what your love has made of me.
By Tooba Samad
Sometimes I think what if there is nothing special about me?
Not the one people admire, not the one they ignore,
just someone they forget after the conversation ends.
I watch others, so sure of what they are, and I start questioning myself.
They speak and people listen, I speak and my words fade halfway.
They say everyone has something unique,
but what if I haven’t found mine, or worse, what if it isn’t there at all?
I try to improve, but every effort feels small when I compare it to others.
And that is what scares me—not failure,
but trying my whole life and still being unnoticed.
Just passing through time without leaving anything behind.
But then a thought stays,
quiet but stubborn— maybe I am not falling behind,
maybe I am just becoming.
And maybe being average is not the end of the story,
just the part before it begins.
Khadija Nasrat
In the hush between two breaths,
where time forgets to flow,
there lives fragile stillness.
Only silent hearts can know the world.
Many rush in time and sound,
in endless restless streams.
But peace is found in feeling pauses,
and in the space between our dreams.
