The country where I spend my old days Observing natural phenomena under sun rays The place, I enjoyed my childhood To cherish my memories for good My country is Pakistan, a happy place A house of food and loyal face Its streets were blooming with…

Here, not here, Mom stares At me but sees and hears ghosts– Her handsome soldier Patient patient Mom Room must be filled with hidden Impatient spirits Cooing and soothing Promising to envelop Her indignity Speaking in tongues she Doesn’t recognize my voice Or my face…

They call her “The Queen City” In the brochures (for the guests) — Not arrogant or commanding (like a King City) Not authoritative or demanding (just relax and be) — No, simply “The Queen City” Reigning quietly as the best.

Sometimes the days are long, and you feel all hope is lost. You push yourself to get ahead, no matter what it might cost. Others talk you down, you fall in line, losing sight of your dreams. You realize one day that their world is…

It was simple, A breath, And I slipped from now to then, And I saw your face again, And your face remotely yours, As we stood before the doors… It was simple, A breath, My voice catching on the past, My voice catching on the…

we were so young, one of us petulant in the extreme refusing to remain in the car backing downhill, or picking at food offered with nothing but reproof the other two of us younger still not yet teens, entranced by the smells at corners we…

  our hope is not lost on idealism it’s a real identity inner peace helps to survive lost in authority let motivation start your senses never voluntarily relinquish power aesthetic mentality of movement never disregard what is lost change need for correctness be the new…

Shame lived there. Uneven, crumbly walls painted industrial white, rusted metal shrieking when we flushed. I used to glide on second-hand roller skates down uncarpeted floor that dipped and rolled through dingy rooms. And the cardboard refrigerator box I called my castle. I propped it…

Umbrellas  We came early to get a spot We thought surely there’d be a lot.   Yellow umbrellas line the beach good looking ‘fellas hiding under each.   Scorching sand from the high heat impossible to withstand without a shaded seat.   Making the trek…

Umma never let me wait up for you. But sometimes I didn’t fall asleep until I heard you come home. Porch door swung open, plastic blinds slapped against the door. I drifted away, knowing you would be met with a steaming bowl of white rice…