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Waseka Mehrin Poem
no superman comes
only innocent lives fade
under the open sky
beneath the roar of explosions in the high.
a generation is lost
in the depths of night,
where the echoes of Azaan
collide with the cries
of those who held their dead too tight.
power triumphs
humanity weeps.
the eyes of the bloodthirsty rulers
red with madness
bathing in the blood
of our fallen brothers.
look at us
today our hands are viciously red
we smirk
shamelessly stepping over the bodies of the dead.
In the end,
we’ll ask, “Who killed who?”
But we’ll forget.
we always do.
Copyright © Waseka Mehrin | Year Posted 2025
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Details |
Waseka Mehrin Poem
They say I'm enigmatic,
Yet I find myself lost in notions, so mnemonic.
Melancholy runs violently through my veins,
Am I too malignant to be heard by God’s reign?
People love to misinterpret,
But my scars don’t tell the secrets kept.
Never disclosed how they shattered my soul,
Is it too late to play the “Perfect one” role?
Time passes by,
Freezing me,leaving my eyes dry.
And I look up to the sky for something
I may never find.
The deeper I go,
The hazier it grows;
The harder I slip,
The darker it shows.
This pettiness drags me into despair,
What do they call it?
Uncertainty’s snare?
I’m no Heisenberg,
Yet I lose myself in the air.
"Burden!"-
keeps echoing through my limbic core,
A burden of feelings I can't ignore,
I smirk;
Will my raft ever reach the shore?
Will my wounds ever have the audacity to hum a lullaby?
I pray my dreams don’t bid me goodbye.
With my old self,
Dews stood still,
Mountains chuckled;
The air smelled of ancient books,
Yet they cast me away,
Like forgotten nukes.
O dear life, have you sworn an oath,
To turn my tears into meaningless froth?
There's more to life I console myself,
Sighing and keeping my desires unfed.
The inner me cries,”Who actually am I”?
Voidness replies “Know thyself you're no special sprite!”
Am I nothing but a menace in disguise?
Who can I embrace, where do truth and hope lie?
All that’s left is this hushed vacuity
Someday I want to get reincarnated as a flower of serenity.
Copyright © Waseka Mehrin | Year Posted 2025
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Details |
Waseka Mehrin Poem
after each sip of coffee
her lipstick stain blurred and deepened
just like her untold stories
fought for, finding ways to
come back to life,
reshuffled.
scars she had inside,
scratches she sealed with a pinch of salt,
were the silver shadows coming back
to taunt, to haunt,
to suck her soul to the bones?
oh, to smell hazelnut fragrance
again and again and again;
did she find solace
through the masochistic pain?
little did she know
she was the remaining teacup water slipping into a drain
after a rain.
drowning in the void,
trees scarred by a lightning strike on a purple night.
the fire beside her
looked extra orange,
stairs looked extra grey.
the voices inside her head
kindled a new trembling fight.
same old disgust,
forming a heap of rust,
here, there, and everywhere
feeling a force of upthrust.
was it windy enough
to scatter her into dust?
shall she
discover herself buried beneath
the twirling tides,
leading to roller coaster rides?
no ifs,
yet remaining buts,
splicing the even thoughs
with discarded thoughts like driftwood.
only,
only if she had the audacity
to turn the rock into
thirty shades of blue and blue.
only if
the chlorophyll-less leaves could photosynthesize,
the vacancy,
perhaps,
wouldn't crash like tsunami waves.
she's just her,
her and full of her;
quicksand blooming beneath her feet.
up ahead,
the melancholy hill
whispered,
she owed herself
a meeting with the stranger wearing her skin.
Copyright © Waseka Mehrin | Year Posted 2026
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