Nishat Wasim has been writing and publishing poetry since 1984. Her poems have been published in national newspapers, magazines and The Journal of the Pakistani Academy of Letters. In addition, her poems were included in the anthology Poetry From Pakistan. Oxford University Press. Karachi 1997. Nishat is senior faculty at the dept. Of English. The University of Karachi. Karachi, Pakistan.
The pigeon laid her eggs in the narrow space between the window and the AC outer. She knew it to be a safe space beyond the reach of predators. Patiently she sat on her eggs the chicks hatched she watched them grow.
To the world the wounds have healedthe scars faded, invisible.Yet all it takesare carelessly spoken wordsor random, fleeting thoughtsfor the hurt to surface.The wounds bleed invisible dropsthe anguish swirling like a black cloud,surrounds the self.The bright smilethe calm demeanourbelie the echo of
The candles burn bright illuminate the night hold back the terrors braving the dark clouds the old moon in the arms of the new moon foretelling a storm. Thunder, lightning, whipping rain announce the coming of the storm. The high winds
Sighing softly I collapse on my favourite chair after a crazy long day. In and out, slowly, deeply let the muscles relax I tell myself. It is blessedly quiet the night silence fills the air. A hot cup of tea, a book
1. The sun on the face the chill of a winter morn a cup of steaming tea a book. Bliss incarnate. 2. I burn like ice I melt like dew In the heat of your touch in the fire of your love.
The world shifts on its axis when it dawns on you that your parents are not the font of knowledge and wisdom the epitome of perfection not gods, but imperfect, fallible human beings with dreams and desires a life beyond parenthood.
The casually slipped arm about the waist the squeeze of the shoulder spoke volumes of the love felt but rarely displayed. A quiet glow spread from the toes upwards spreading its warmth to all the pores driving out the chill felt