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Best Poems Written by Hira Fatima

Below are the all-time best Hira Fatima poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Hira Fatima Poem

Before the Dark

The villain wasn't always a villain. 

Once upon a time, they laughed like sunlight on pebbles in a river, 
Heart soft and eyes wide with wonder. 
But the world sharpened its teeth against them. 
An act of Betrayal and a wound, and a silence for too long. 


They reached out and called for aid,
No one responded. 

So, they built walls by way of broken trust, hid their heart in the dark, and learned to use pain like a tool. 

Now we call them a monster, 
but ask yourself this instead-
Who's the monster that hurt them first?


~hira~

Details | Hira Fatima Poem

Is a Mirror Just a Mirror

A mirror isn't just a frame,
A sheet of glass that speaks your name.
It shows your image. Yes, it's true–
But now the whole of what is you.
It doesn't bend, it doesn't fake,
It captures truths you cannot break.

But mirror hide in the other forms–
In quiet thoughts, in silence storms. 
In words that bruise, in eyes that know,
In shadows you still fear to show. 
Not every mirror dare to shine– 
some show the crack you called divine.

So ask yourself what mirrors mean–
They’re more than Polished, silver, clean.
They’re, everything that lays you bare– 
Your secret grief, your silent prayers, 
The mirror speaks without a sound– 
It sees the soul where truth is found.

Details | Hira Fatima Poem

Light

She walks in rooms where silence hides it face,
Not loud, but warm-a hush, a golden thread. 
She touches cracks that time cannot Lace,
And brings back truths that long ago were dead. 

She melts the ices that wraps around the Insides, 
And stands where fear and shadow still reside.
A flicker dressed in silver–soft she Greets,
No sword, no Storm , just bare and steady beats. 

She doesn't run, she doesn't Harbor pride–
She only stays to Tell what pain denied.

~hira~

Details | Hira Fatima Poem

Is a Mirror Just a Mirror

A mirror isn't just a frame,
A sheet of glass that speaks your name.
It shows your image. Yes, it's true–
But now the whole of what is you.
It doesn't bend, it doesn't fake,
It captures truths you cannot break. 

But mirror hide in the other forms–
In quiet thoughts, in silence storms. 
In words that bruise, in eyes that know,
In shadows you still fear to show. 
Not every mirror dare to shine– 
some show the crack you called divine. 

So ask yourself what mirrors mean–
They’re more than Polished, silver, clean.
They’re, everything that lays you bare– 
Your secret grief, your silent prayers, 
The mirror speaks without a sound– 
It sees the soul where truth is found.

~hira~

Details | Hira Fatima Poem

If They Had the Words

If soil could complain-
if air could sign,
if Earth could weep,
and if humanity could truly speak
of what it has done to itself.
 
They would recount quite wounds,
buried in silence,
echoes stifled by times,
memories sealed away,
folded within like secrets-
the world refused to hear.
 
But silence is not peace,
it is a storm held in the lungs,
a scream never given voice.
 
And if one day -
someone dared to listen, truly listen-
To the grief that was never spoken,
they should be overcome by guilt,
They would fall beneath it's weight.The Foyle Young Poets of the Year Award

Details | Hira Fatima Poem

Misty Morning's Whisper

Her warm breath fogs the pane.
She draws a mis-ty veil.
Footsteps fade like lost ghosts.
Her voice melts in the rain.
Dreams ache inside her chest.
Hope hums of might-have-been.


Contest: SOME KIND OF MISTY Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Nette Onclaud
Date: July 5, 2025

Details | Hira Fatima Poem

What blooms after burning

She was a field–
soft, wide, aching.
He was the match,
small
but hungry. 

They met 
not in spring,
but in that breathless hush
before things grow–
where hope is still half-buried
beneath frost. 

She held the rain
like a secret.
He wore the fire
like a promise 
He never meant to keep. 

She broke
without a sound
He burned
like it was prayer. 

and yet–
in the blackened soil,
something small,
something stubborn
began to bloom.

Details | Hira Fatima Poem

When Silence Is Forced, It Isn’t Peace

They told her 
to quiet her thunder–
to fold her voice into corners
where no one could trip over it. 

"Girls who speak too much invite war,"
they warned.
So she stitched her lips
with threads of fear and politeness,
and swallowed storms
like rage was a sin
girls weren’t sacred enough to carry. 

They called it grace
when she walked like a whisper.
They called her peace 
when she stopped rising questions.
But no one noticed 
how she flinched at her own thoughts, 
how silence grew teeth inside her chest. 

She wasn't safe.
She was surviving. 

Every time they praised her calm,
they were clapping
for the cage
they built around her. 

Because when silence is forced,
it isn't peace.
It's punishment dressed as pretty–
a lullaby
layered over a scream.

Details | Hira Fatima Poem

Fulcrum of a Rose

They say the scent begins in bloom,
But I have felt it in the fold–
where petals hide, and shadows loom, 
not where the colour are bold. 

It lives between the bloom and  bruise,
a hush the sunlight doesn't see. 
It stays with those who never choose,
to shine, but still learn how to be.  

I found it's centre, soft and small–
and there, I heard my own soul call.


~hita~

Details | Hira Fatima Poem

What the Silence Hid

She smiled in rooms that cracked her spine,
where beauty bruised and grace meant lie.
They called her calm, not knowing this–
each breath she took was clenched like fists.
The silence praised was not her peace. 
It was the cage. She found the keys.