Asma Firdous

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poetry

The ink is ready to dye the paper
Her pen ready to obey her grip
And she sits today
with old missions again…!

Her knowledge of language
The alphabet roaming in her brain
She tries to knit sentences
Again…!

As the tip of the nib touches the
paper surface
A rush of ink through atoms
its like heavens descending down to
earth

Like divine touching the meagre
She witnesses this miracle on her
desk
Everyday…!

But the pen never moves
her grip never creates a dance of
writing
For within her

Are greater miracles happening
The divine teaching her a strange
language.
She desires to pen her lessons

Her silent dreams
She wants to write her heart out
Ink all she feels
but there in front of her
is a paper blotted…

The ink as always never serves her
soul.
For when divine teaches…it
engraves.

A language that can’t be moulded
into
words…!

(An emerging poet of valley, Asma Firdous is doing her Bachelors in Horticulture at SKUAST-K.)

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