RISING by Nida Fazal

Nida Fazal

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I might rise slightly deferral,
Like the sun in cold .
My dawn is seldom on time,
Like turn not every bud into a flower.
I hold back grudges and scars,
Like a fly hesist entering a web.
Yet my beginnings aren’t scrubbed,
Perhaps are delayed, indeed not denied.
I go numb when encounter with fears,
Like a soul trapped in a lion cave.
My firm goals, I perform out of mind,
Like drunk straight with alcohol.
I am tirelessly struggling and striving,
Like a farmer raising field crops.

Yet my beginnings aren’t scrubbed,
Perhaps are delayed, indeed not denied.
I am a wanderer of hidden places,
Like the ones in search of their reach.
My theme of poetry is survival,
Like the travellers of peak range.
I show none serene looks, inside lies fire,
Like a thirsty dog trying defeating death.
Yet my beginnings aren’t scrubbed,
Perhaps are delayed, indeed not denied.

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Read “The differences” if you like this poem.