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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.
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