HIRAA KAZMI - POEMS

Hiraa did Masters in English Literature from Department of English, University of the Punjab. She also holds a Masters degree in Education and International Development from UCL Institute of Education, UK. Hiraa wrote her first poem for University of the Punjab’s English Department magazine “Words” and never stopped. Literature is her long term friend and she seeks refuge, advice, insight and delight in books. She is a lecturer in University of Education, Lahore, Pakistan where she teaches courses in literature. Her poems have been published in Eastlit and Sicklit Magazines

                                                  Museum


The galleries stay still,
wrapped in silence-
thick and shadowy.
I walk in reverence
Leaning close to hear
the hushed tones of
our ancestors and others…    
beckoning through magical stillness
with their frozen voices
reaching across from centuries.
The laughter, the yells,
the cries, commands,
amalgamating in
euphoric hypnosis…
flashing vivid images in mind
of scenes heard but never seen.
Outside- the world awaits,
Inside- I live a thousand lives.
 

 
                                                 Space


Looking through the window
Reflection itself becomes an intruder
Sharing space
Self evolves into another self
With blurred edges,
Mystified and out of focus
Yet fit within the tangible frame
Illusion embraces creation
Who am I?
Observer or observed?
The ‘Seer’ or the ‘Seen’…
 

 
                                       Of Dust and Rust       


Days of past have long gone by
safely tucked away in the archives of history
Ancestral laws shelved in neat rows,
Traitors, martyrs, friends and foes,
All well placed in chronological order.
Silent pages of blood stained history
beautifully packed in gilded covers,
well within reach yet centuries away.
Those faded voices seem distant now,
faces and words_ swallowed up in a cloud of dust,
they stopped craving for attention,
            long before we stopped giving it.
Old records gradually succumbing to rust,
            half eaten by gone by years, slowly dying like history.