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Hiba Junaid Poem
The rosa blanda embroidering your face
will become the veins in my tongue reaching to clog my throat
go past the tonsils and vocal chords and windpipe
down and down still, burrowing into the esophagus
relentless in its pursuit, just, just, just to lay seeds in my chest
tumor a pea, peanut, grape, walnut, lime, matilija, peach, grapefruit
straining muscle surprising itself with the ability to withstand the stretch
craving asphyxiation, those lungs may covet paroxysm
but grieve not the fulfillment of a destiny
this ache, this devastation was meant to be
no, they won’t be careful of what they wish for
you’ll become the air I swallow, and the organ that inhales and exhales it both
viciously lush beauty anywhere and everywhere
so when you see the body that used to be mine,
you’ll gasp in horror or awe or both: which one? I’ll never know
the garden you planted nurses no speech, nor soil, nor hope of infertility
just a promise of bloom and perpetual harvest
a pretty letter from dainty lips, viscous honey quenching its thirst
a giddy blush warming embryos out of stout cases
a brush of apple-sun cheeks dawning moonlight-budding leaves
just a gaze and my heart will melt,
sand that brazenly melds into laminated glass
gifted to strong hands smothered in peppermint lotion
who will keep it safe in their loops, whorls, and arches
brindle cedar irises roots to this infatuation
their existence cruel to a poet who only knows
words mere facets unworthy of describing
fields of cosmoses a cosmos itself
choking on fantasies and tears of scarlet drupes,
I retch out garlands born in guileless meadows
and as the last petal falls,
the sweetest rose hip takes branch
its only sin a love too big
Copyright © Hiba Junaid | Year Posted 2025
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Hiba Junaid Poem
"But when you showed me what happiness looked like, I shook harder, sobbed, wailed and bawled; tore at your clothes, your perfect, perfect face, and said, "This could never be mine."" - the poet.
It seems that it was just yesterday
when we lay on your bed, sides sticking to aged sheets
just looking at each other, gentle impermanence
when I inhaled sunlight and the sweet ignorance of childhood
and you exhaled life and the ache of passed years
you entertained my cheating in petty games
and I muffled the warnings that befell my way
deep down, I knew the end was near
they brought you in an ambulance in a journey dubbed arduous
we all got turns glimpsing your face
pale lips and a still visage
waxy skin and sunken cheeks
but all I could see were
glinty eyes crinkled at the edges
carefree smiles, dented dimples
it was then I knew the end was here
You planted roses in a barren garden
and I clutched the peppercorn railing of your window,
we recounted tales of obsidian nightingales and lantern fireflies
from their humanity, their solicitude,
you learned no lesson, you learned no lesson
so I tore away from the dying throng
my love turned crystal tears
they just couldn't fall, wouldn't dare
to my right, there they were
peaking above ebony stems and olive leaves-
scarlet blossoms at their zenith
before I knew it, I was at their side
wrenching my share from the picturesque panorama
even if the world was dark,
the petals sodded my hands with wet morning dew
one for every scar you gave
I lay them all over your corpse
only fair, it's only fair
that you reap what you sowed, that I reap what I sowed
yes, I ran after vivid lights
red and blue and a piercing siren
threw caution to the wind
just the gravel road beneath my feet
and the cruel machine that didn't know what it shouldered
that swerved right
and left our street
sometimes, I lock myself in your room
the faded covers still smell like you
the blinds turn jade and the paint vancouver blue
the sun is warm, but the shadows are black-
your favorite color
I curl into myself and exhale you in pain
the piece of me you carried with you
weeps with every hopeless call
mourning its rightful place in my chest
now grief, with its sanguine hues,
blooms in that garden, desolate once more
I cry in the arms of the one you hurt
and it isn't fair, it isn't fair
that you went too late, left so soon
it's so unfair, it's so unfair
that you broke too many hearts
not just mine.
Copyright © Hiba Junaid | Year Posted 2024
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Hiba Junaid Poem
'Love Story' Poetry Contest.
Sponsor: Regina Mcintosh
1st Place.
“I fell in love the way you fall asleep: slowly, and then all at once.”
- John Green, "The Fault in our Stars."
"Love is selfless. Love is respect. Love is infatuation. Love is more than all three combined."
- the poet
your lashes flutter when you open your eyes
chocolate orbs, blown wide
my favourite flavour
it starts like that
two souls – a little bit broken, a little forlorn
raven locks to hide behind and skin moonlit parchment
I think I must be a little bit gone
lost in nose scrunches and cheeks all bunched up
a healthy blush spread all over and those shy plunges
my poor heart clenches
it’s pouring outside and your clothes are drenched
your body is shivering and your teeth are chattering
yet the umbrella you hold is over my head
eyebrows strewn together, worried I’ll catch a cold
it’s not just the wind ruffling your hair, I think I love your heart
and everything’s pure, this feeling blueberry snow
you love without asking something in return
it’s not just your heart, I think I love your soul
I touch its beauty and I find a lover.
Copyright © Hiba Junaid | Year Posted 2024
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Hiba Junaid Poem
The sky bathes the harbor in cyan turquoise
cadet-blue sea foam bubbles the only gorget one has
versus the flamingos and canaries absconding littoral mire
the gashes on my feet, the burn in my gracilis
have returned me yet again to
sanctum:
la vie en rose,
where
lips breathe lunarias into drift bottles
love songs the only tune in our ears,
lilac mica on denim morpho
is the heart in my chest,
and the color of your hair
when the sun decides
its inevitable rest
everything must come to an end,
but the feeling I get
when you scrunch your nose
and shake wisteria dust
off raven plumes
eclipsing spinel
opals
and if describing them is the one thing I can do,
then the paint in my mouth may go stale
fingertips now pruney, lazy, tired
vision indispensable falling pallid
the paper of my visage a
wrinkly,
sallow
pity
but the young wish of a besotted soul
to grow old with your puling orbs
granted
ink sinks the coral lens
your darling hands
have fixed over my head
but my legs are torn,
and my teeth broken
aching
for another laugh
rumbling through
your vibrating back
that my cheek is pressed into,
and I drown
willing
smile
wistful
hush
still.
Copyright © Hiba Junaid | Year Posted 2025
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Hiba Junaid Poem
"Raining in Summer" Contest
Sponsor: Ink Empress
3rd Place
"Raindrops" Contest
Sponsor: Jcb Brul
2nd Place
It's raining.
Well, it was at least.
I'm just a nobody in their parents' garage witnessing the aftermath.
And it's raining.
After so long.
I love the rain.
The way it clears the air. Makes it thin. Thinner.
Easier to breathe. And savour the taste.
It's on my tongue now. Pinewood and earth. Petrichor.
This moment where my back is relaxed,
its burdens as if dissipated by a magnificent torrent.
This moment where nothing matters,
except all that my marvelling eyes can see.
Where time has come to a halt,
like the clichés I scoffed at.
Everything is blue and grey,
like the movies I balked at.
I want it to last forever.
There are thick droplets falling on old, rusted stairs.
They have a life of their own - I am convinced.
They must have.
Why must they be so laden?
Brittle enough to splatter on dusty tiles,
yet tired enough to get swayed by the wind that flutters by?
Everything in this world is suffering,
but I am at peace.
The clouds are closing in on each other.
Coalescing.
Hiding the glorious sunset this world vies.
But I have vowed to be someone different
so different I shall be.
Alone. And gleeful.
The shower is ending.
And there's this ache to be drenched.
Two steps away from paradise,
I am halted. Warned.
So I take an umbrella and go nonetheless.
The pit patter on my windowsill.
The fly hanging onto the grill.
I'm watching this scene with someone.
We share it together-
The Most Beautiful Moment in Life.
Now, I'm outside.
Now, I'm free.
No one decides who I get to be.
In my mind, my hair is wet.
In my mind, there is no barrier.
In my heart, I'm nine again.
Playing in the garden right next to this garage,
there are two souls laughing with me
and there are no inhibitions.
You are pushing me down a red, green slide.
And I am pushing a swing with you clutching its sides.
We are together.
Nothing can shatter this.
Nothing will.
In the distance, thunder claps.
Breaks me out of my reverie.
I open my eyes.
The purple umbrella is still over my head.
Somewhere, a car swerves by.
There's a black bird sitting on a transmission wire.
I can see bricks stacked upon each other in the effort to build a home right in front of mine.
There's a guy in his terrace drinking coffee.
And the world's still moving.
There is no effort in existing.
I smile.
Copyright © Hiba Junaid | Year Posted 2024
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Hiba Junaid Poem
an empty room
and I stare at the ceiling
blank eyes and a blanker slate,
my poker face
arms spread over my head
all I can see are
whirring blades blurring into
creamy paint and
the small cracks in between
the shadows in my chest,
mahogany
branching out their needles,
ebony
one pricks my eye
red ink taints crisp alabaster
damps it slow, slow, slow
I exhale shaky, shaky, shaky
heavy lids droop to a close
and no one sees
no one can.
Copyright © Hiba Junaid | Year Posted 2024
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Hiba Junaid Poem
Contest: When Summer is Gone
Sponsor: Jcb Brul
1st Place.
"Was it the iris in your heart or was it the whale in my soul?
I thought we were meant to be." ~ the poet
balmy winds stroke my cheeks
soft hands and calloused fingertips
dance their way around my face
tired eyes flutter shut. I feel
waves of oceans with steady currents
a brilliant sun and lemon sand
key lime moss adorning an unbounded shoreline
reflected in coconut pupils,
they are just for you and just for me
when summer is gone,
your touch will not fade
I am the sculpture you pressed life into
the vacant canvas you dyed mulberry blue
though your breaths might,
that love will not falter
and to the young girl who fell asleep counting the stars in your tears,
there will
always be an us
always... be
an us.
Copyright © Hiba Junaid | Year Posted 2024
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Hiba Junaid Poem
There’s a box lying somewhere.
Somewhere in a dusty cupboard.
Somewhere behind old paper, older words, and wounds older still.
Somewhere no one can find it.
I think about it, sometimes.
Sometimes, when I breathe.
Sometimes, when I exhale puffs of grey smoke and let those rashes bleed.
Sometimes, when in the dead of night, my lashes are wet.
Sometimes, when I’m looking somewhere, lost and stumble upon a sunset.
Apples and peaches,
Magentas and vermilions,
Pearls and emeralds,
all strewn across a cobalt, teal sky.
The sky you loved.
I drown in it when no one’s looking.
No one would understand, anyway.
I miss them reflected in that shard of glass we held together.
The one that broke, in giggles and hysterics, that very summer.
The one that I, upon a whim, hid in a wooden chest.
The one that I, with trembling hands, unlatched years later.
Long after you had left.
And it’s much too late
to go back
Much too late.
Copyright © Hiba Junaid | Year Posted 2024
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Hiba Junaid Poem
"When Silence Speaks" poetry contest.
Sponsor: Craig Cornish
2nd Place.
Date Submitted: 07/05/2024
the air conditioner soothing my heated skin
fire brick curtains with their red dyed orange
bumblebee rays peeking through gaps in between,
they have so much to say
so much to say to me
ghosts of muffled laughter snuggling my ears
crinkled edges of faded eyes and scratchy rugs beneath my feet
labored breaths running after a face resembling my own,
your lingering warmth has so much to say
so much to say to me
a hand in mine and a skip in my step
wandering, marveling at street vendors, the bustling market
lavender dreams blooming under our eyelids,
that quiet understanding has so much to say
so much to say to me
heaving shoulders in a dimly lit bathroom,
tear tracks melding into the glass of a splintered mirror
this lonely silence has howled its piece,
now I have nothing to say
nothing to say to me.
Copyright © Hiba Junaid | Year Posted 2024
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Hiba Junaid Poem
"To love is human.
To feel pain is human.
Yet to still love despite the pain is pure angel." - Rumi
There is a voice out there - above the water
whispering melodies I can't seem to get enough of
its longing shaped like lavender hyacinths
But it's so easy to sing
and so hard to drown
in the things you make me feel
Copyright © Hiba Junaid | Year Posted 2024
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