When I Read Their faces

Am I not a story?
A perpetual juggler
Or any apparition hustling to survive?

Disrupted volcano
Miserably, a blast!
Of flames and flowers
Perceived as hollow and no art!

Am I not an artful soul, grinding?
In this shallower life!
And all the seedlings that I borrow
From every disregard.

Today, I sit in a corner all lost
In a patchwork of highs and all lows
Ah!
What a sight to behold within me
The fission of my lamented sorrows!

-Aiman Qadeer

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