Hamda Faisal

i open my eyes and

i open my eyes and i’m still on my bed. the memories playing on the wall have stilled
and i’m reliving the same moment again and again – knees to my chest, back to the
wall, and crying with my head down in a busy corridor. no one notices me. years
later, i could feel your eyes on me while i was looking away. i wonder if you felt mine.
i read on my twitter feed that grief comes in waves and today i’m drowning in one.
there’s something strange in the air and it is haunting my skin. udaasi. the tree from
my window tells me it’s spring with its red flowers. but i breathe in and it’s only
melancholy and death. the ocean is rushing to engulf me – what should i do?


if you close your eyes hard enough you can almost imagine the time happiness tasted
sweet on your tongue / when hope lingered in your vowels and you didn’t have to
look at the window every time the laughter rang through your house walls / i set a
sweet prayer towards the heaven whenever your eyes sparkle under the sunlight / the
irony is not lost on me / neither the night the doorbell didn’t ring and your blankets
weren’t unfolded / if you close your eyes hard enough.

i could feel the weight of your prayers under the streetlights and in the pockets
stitched on my dresses / it’s hard to drag around some days but it lights up in
constellations and bedtime stories / i now know why my mother prayed for me and
why i pray for you / and if you closed your eyes hard enough you could finally reach
out to the love in your lashes and smile a little brighter.

the light or the dark

the sweat from my temples seep into my bedsheets and my mouth is too dry to let
out a scream / so i quietly turn my sadness and listen to the hum of the fan that’s
trying its best / though not enough, never enough / tomorrow i’ll sweep the sorrows
from under my bed but tonight, i’ll let the thoughts run wild / i know the clock is
ticking even though the old fan makes it hard to be heard / the light reminds me that
the city is still awake / refusing me the privacy to hit my lowest / my heart starts to
pump faster but it seems tired out too / we’ll wait this out together / that is / to say /
in a room where the light or the dark refuses to enter alone.

Hamda Faisal

Hamda is a literature student and writer based in Gujranwala, Pakistan. She mainly dabbles in prose of various and all kinds, and writes about trivial emotions and moments that encompass everyday life. IG instagram.com/ohhamda/ Twitter twitter.com/semidrama