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Best Poems Written by Zobarya Fakhar

Below are the all-time best Zobarya Fakhar poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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collecting dust

i thought
being alone
would feel like air—
light and open

but it is heavy here
walls pressing in
rooms filled with
everything i’ve lost

silence
settles like dust
covering pieces of me
i am afraid to lose

i watched you vanish
into air
as if you were never here

and now
i am scared
of becoming something
forgotten
on an empty shelf

but even here
with dust piling up
i will clear the space
and find what is left
of me

like i always do

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the truth I didn’t want to believe

I gave all I had
even when I thought
I had nothing to give.

I stayed,
I fought,
I built bridges
over an ocean of lies
just to find myself drowning.

I didn’t want it to end.
I didn’t want it to be true.

But no matter how much you try,
you can’t make someone stay.
You can’t make someone care.

And now,
all that’s left
is the truth I didn’t want to believe.

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Silence Cuts Deep

Words rest on my tongue,
sharp and heavy,
like shattered glass,
aching to spill.

But as they press against my lips,
ready to slice their way out,
a voice pulls me back:
They are not worthy of your fire.

And I pause.
I ask myself—
what’s stronger?
The urge to make them bleed,
or the strength to walk away
and let their silence swallow them whole?

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Be Strong

“Be strong,”
they all say,
when I lost my dad,
as if strength could fill
the hollow space
he left.

And even now,
as I lose
myself—
the dreams I once held tight
d r i f t i n g
like clouds
in the sky.

What does it mean
to be strong
when I’m fighting
just to breathe?

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It’s just the hurt talking

I’m sorry.
I know, it’s all I seem to say— 
words tumbling out,
rushing to escape before anger catches them.

It’s the things I thought I’d left behind,
sharp edges thrown where they don’t belong.
I’m sorry.
I don’t mean to make every moment heavy
with memories I don’t want.

The truth is,
I’m tired of the fight in me,
of apologizing to anyone
who brushes against these bruises.

So I say it again,
a little softer each time, as if that might fix it—
I’m sorry,
it’s just the hurt talking.
But someday,
I hope I’ll have something else to say.

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a flame no wind could touch

I searched for light
in the spaces you left behind—
in empty chairs at dinner,
in the silence that lingered after your name.

I thought if I tried hard enough,
if I gave enough,
I could bring it back—
the warmth, the glow,
the feeling of being whole.

But the more I gave,
the smaller I became,
until I couldn’t tell
if I was searching for you,
or for the pieces of myself
I had lost along the way.

Then one night,
when the silence grew too heavy to hold,
it broke open.

And in its stillness,
I saw her—
the girl I had forgotten,
waiting through every heartbreak,
every loss.

She wasn’t asking to be saved,
only to be seen—
how she stood,
quiet and steady,
a flame no wind could touch.

The light I was chasing
was never yours to give.
It had always been here,
within her,
within me,
burning steadily through it all.

I am the light I thought I had lost—
not because I am unbroken,
but because I have learned
to hold the cracks
and still shine.

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I thought I’d be the one

I thought I’d be the one
someone would fight to keep.

That my absence would make you pause,
that my silence would make you care.

I wasn’t asking for the world—
just a sign that I mattered.

But here I stand,
wondering if I’ll always be
the one waiting to be seen.

Maybe I’m learning now:
No one’s coming back.

The fight I was waiting for
starts with me.

To walk forward,
alone if I have to,
and hold my head high—
knowing I am enough,
even when no one showed me.

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Some people just know

You leave without asking them to wait.
You disappear without expecting them to remember.
And yet—
when the time comes, they show up.

Not with questions.
Not with expectations.
Just with the quiet knowing
that you are still here,
that you are still you,
that you were never forgotten.

And that is enough.

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No Vacancy

i am a house with the doors left open
for too long.
too many footsteps have walked in
dragging their storms with them.
i do not know how to tell them
i have no space left
to shelter their rain.

i try to listen, to nod, to stay—
but the ceiling is cracking.
i can’t hold up another storm.

so maybe this time,
i will lock the door.
i will sit in the quiet
and hold my own hand first.

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If I Speak, Will You Listen?

Am I to share my pain, or not,
Or cash it in for what I’ve got?
Am I a light for one to see,
Or do I wish for you to hear me?