The dead

The dead shall speak for the ones alive, 

not knowing the alive are deaf. 

The dead shall scream, 

not knowing the alive are deaf, 

The dead shall whine, 

everyone shall see,

but none shall hear, 

for they are deaf.

pashmeena

Where did you get that pashmeena? 

So many colors, colors one will never find? 

-- I have woven this with threads I found, 

from the river to the sea, 

in a land that was not free. 

The red thread I found, 

stuck in a branch of a tree, 

drenched in blood, 

of my beloved. 

The beige one I found

on the windowsill of a house

with the mother shedding love

and hope from her eyes, 

waiting for the son 

who never left to return  

The pink as you see, 

is the one from the cheeks, 

of the children of my land, 

Smiling and shy they stand. 

The blue as you see 

is what I borrowed from the sky, 

vast and clear and free

Like my land will be ! 

~Shafaq Shahid

Barzakh

I saw roses from a graveyard, 

creeping over the walls, 

words written on every petal, 

as each one of them falls. 

I saw a man standing there, 

collecting petals from the road, 

keeping them in a diary, 

one petal in every fold. 

- Who writes to you from there? 

- Those are letters from Barzakh. 

My son warns me of sins, 

and the betrayal of the world. 

and he tells me how each virtue, 

grows like whorls. 

-Do the petals fall everytime? 

- No. 

 

I find one at fajr, 

it has a smile with salam 

The ones in the day

at the sound of each Azaan

The one at 'isha' is as if at peace

"you did not waste your day"

is what it reads

I ll write to you from my grave too

with flowers pink as blush

I ll write to you from my grave too, 

with the brown ink of mud. 

~Shafaq Shahid