Protecting the young heart, dear heart


The grief

In the rivers of grief

With its own ebbs and flows

I, incognito,

Because of pain from an old wound-

I decided with helpleness and passivity-

With heavy tides of melancholy and nostalgia-

I decided with a montage of ambiance

That we, we were all broken inside.

Cognizant of my astronomical faults,

I was brave enough to scream

“Thank God”.

I came through every time.

But aren’t we all broken inside ?

~Maryum Khalid~

The addiction

Sinking was the feeling

Working in concert with

An aphrodisiac,

Realizing there’d be

No more false hopes,

No more physical bruises

To my soul

But that this reality

Is hitting me

And time is not relative-

It’s passing and I’m feeling

Distant because

As much as my defence mechanisms

Are in tact, trying to forget and

Extend the shock stage,

I’m going to have to face

The rawness of

Emotion- the climax

Of this tragedy-

Face my embarrassed,

Stupid, ashamed and

Lonely self. Oh, I’m too

Complex and I’m tired

Of explaining myself.

I’m trying to give myself

Options here,

Trying to trust myself

This time-

This time, I can recover from

This addiction; ‘the impact of

Violence on you’, the intent,

Because no, I’m not ugly,

No I don’t have that growing

Inside of me;

I am a nurturer,

I am a forgiver,

I am spiritual,

I can relieve my suffering-

Oh, I am dying,

I am lonely,

Embarrassed, stupid, ashamed

And lonely.

I am raw and

Honest either way-

Flashbacks, hitting,

Soul covered in bruises.

Listen,will you listen?

will you look at yourself

In the mirror?

people look you right in the

Eye- lie to you- destroy you-

Do it on purpose-

And you can’t stand straight

And look at yourself

In the mirror, in this home

You made for yourself?

Not guilty.

Not guilty.

Not guilty.

You are innocent;

You don’t have to prove it.

When they tell me

Otherwise in their

Suits, I’m going to let that

Feeling sink and be

prepared to say:

(No it’s not going to be written

In ink, only I’m going to be

Feeling it where I’ve been

Feeling all this)

No. There is no standard

Of behaviour

After you’ve been hit like this-

Physically and mentally.

No. I’m not going to lie to

Myself or you,

The way I was lied to.

No, in all this, there is

No standard of behaviour.

No whys, should haves, would haves,

So please,

Step down.

Whether you can swallow it

Or not, step down.

Amidst the crackling of the fire burning,

Defence mechanisms, addictions,

Hatred, I’m trying to sink

Into mindfulness-

Trying to look through

My skin and figure out

The emotionalities of these

Physical wounds (and/or the

Other way around),

Trying to figure out why

I need to tell myself I’m broken

And why it is I have to heal

(Because how ever much you

Are trying to fight it, this is real,

The scars are real)-

I am present at showing myself

And my suffering





~Maryum Khalid~

“I am a forest, and a night of dark trees: but he who is not afraid of my darkness, will find banks full of roses under my cypresses” (Friedrich Nietzsche).

Dinner for my love

There was so much

In your house

To get lost into.

You said it was my Home

But to me it never felt

That way.

There was too much I’d heard,

Too much I knew

You didn’t think I saw.

Fixing us dinner.

Sitting in silence

At the table

But there was no

Solace at all.

We sat in a

Full course meal

And my mind was full

Of arguments

And between

The appetizer,

Entre and dessert,

I would shift

Between sudden

Tastes of disappointment

(Of you not being truthful,

Faithful), anger,

Fear, injustice, disgust,

Contempt and sadness.

And then I’d hate myself

For being so cruel,

And stone- hearted too.

There was so much

In your house

To get lost into.

And while stirring

My spoon

I would look away,

Getting lost into the

Folds of the beautiful

Satin curtains,

Laced with sapphire

coloured roses.

Between counting prayer beads

And climbing mountains

In the painting

We sat separated-

On either side of

The dinner table,

Yet still in the

Middle of this


On some days

Your calm voice

Would ask me about

My day

And I’d be back

At the table,

Looking at the man

I choose to change

Myself for.

On some days

You’d stare at me

And raise your voice

In frustration about

“Why don’t you ever say


I went from high to low,

Arguing inside about how long

I could go on,

Moving my mouth

To no appetite.

There was so much

In your house

To get lost into.

~Maryum Khalid~