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Maryam H. Viqar

A seeker, dreamer, scribbler, reader, writing poetry as musings of a restless mind....and yes 'the sight of the stars makes me dream' too....

The Calling

the ugly writers
And like an insomniac I sit up Startled by the ethereal Quietude Staring at me

Snow Magic

the ugly writers
Like sheen of cloud-like fluff Gently touching the soles of my feet Its ethereal magic Falling silently upon me


the ugly writers
In scorching heat of summer I dream of frosty winter

The Wanderer

the ugly writers
The wanderer moves on, Leaving behind the burnt up logs Few morsels of uneaten tasteless food


the ugly writers
Do not hurry to bury me For I shall wait to see your face Among the few who come to say their Last farewell.


the ugly writers
I write As night begins to dance to An uncannily serene tune A trickle of water somewhere

Lost in Reverie

the ugly writers
With thundering sounds Like a sudden pounding push To reality, I resurface. Quiet and unseen

The Girl Who Dreamt

Still shine under the bright Sun Just as my eyes always shone When I dreamt to touch the stars.


What lies on the other side Of life What awaits us when we cease To be A heaven, exquisite Or a hell like the one


the ugly writers

The Criminal   I heard They killed you Shot you in the head Three times They felt Just one was not enough To vent the hatred they had nursed A long time I heard…… They buried you, Somewhere far Hid…