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Literature
12.12
in full bloom, you were
when i first loved you;
spring's air opening
you and the colours
you kept inside
winter had come and gone,
since then, my dear
and i have kept
every wilted petal tucked away,
praying silently to myself
that death
can be undone
:iconrachel-rhapsody:rachel-rhapsody
:iconrachel-rhapsody:rachel-rhapsody 11 0
Searching for Spring by alexgphoto Searching for Spring :iconalexgphoto:alexgphoto 402 61 Jack and the Ivystalk by iNeedChemicalX Jack and the Ivystalk :iconineedchemicalx:iNeedChemicalX 665 42 give me love. by ohsparrowsong give me love. :iconohsparrowsong:ohsparrowsong 17 0 Stop and Stare by torivarn Stop and Stare :icontorivarn:torivarn 1,811 274 remnents. by ohsparrowsong remnents. :iconohsparrowsong:ohsparrowsong 15 0
Literature
puppy love
you've grown your hair
faster than we outgrew each other
and it looks pretty silly but you look
pretty happy
and that's good enough for me. who
would have known we would be here now,
far apart in more ways that one,
far more happy than we thought
we could be without each other.
here was me thinking you
were my entire life, here was me thinking
i couldn't do any of this without you,
i said here is what's left of me please
fix me. here is my heart please take it.
(you didn't and that's okay. it's okay
now because i understand you and
i understand me and we were just
too different and i pushed you
i pushed you until you fell over
backwards and skinned your palms
and you looked up at me and i looked
down at you and i felt bigger
only now
i feel
small)
i couldn't do it with you if i tried
:iconforestmeetwildfire:forestmeetwildfire
:iconforestmeetwildfire:forestmeetwildfire 4 0
Day 192: Salad Overload! by umerr2000 Day 192: Salad Overload! :iconumerr2000:umerr2000 17 8 New York Cityscape Poster by SmidiS New York Cityscape Poster :iconsmidis:SmidiS 4 0 UNconditional Nature by AEvolve UNconditional Nature :iconaevolve:AEvolve 5 0
Literature
the cannibal
eyes bright for wildflowers
I swear they leaned toward her as she passed
with her boyish gait, a confident stride
she caught me with the absence of her smile
and she thought I was a wildfire
set to burn her worries away 
but I was tame
tame tame tame
and she was burning up
she laughed when she realized my still temperament 
bewildering the sound, a pretty Sunday laugh
light of heart, balancing honesty's edge
hiding between this duality of personality
her fabricated safe haven 
but in the night she asked me to keep her
and for a long time I held her soft body, full of insecurity
to mine securely but her anxiety was an earthquake 
I could feel inside her, I could feel the tectonic
plates shifting in her mind and once she'd chiseled her nails
to bare skin she moved on to mine 
she held my hands like a wounded bird in hers and she
whispered to them "when you fly, I will too" 
yet all the while she kept clipping their wings
with her ner
:icon0hgravity:0hgravity
:icon0hgravity:0hgravity 46 56
Literature
the monarchy of a dangling heart
His heart is a dead monarch, and he knew it like the back of his hands.
He traced the pattern of sunlight left by the remnants of autumn and declared that he was a lion, a throat crying with might, hands cupped towards the skies to catch the constellations falling from daylight.
Life breathed through other things, he thought, and a fabric of chambers only holds needless love.
“The strength of celestial-fire will surely keep me alive.”
He was delusional, but he held his pride like he dropped his heart, neck- deep and hanging from the threads of his veins.
It’s dead! It’s useless, he thought.
He told himself that he never needed a heart.
He only needed himself; the burning galaxies and himself.
With this, a thousand suns gathered in his palms. He swallowed them whole and spat poetry to the heavens.
“Words are too plain for glory; only poetry can hold the beauty of something this immortal.”
He carried a desert and tucked it inside h
:iconbrokengod--veins:brokengod--veins
:iconbrokengod--veins:brokengod--veins 14 16
the reasons I keep going back to this pen, paper, typewriter. :heart:

Newest Deviations

Mature content
why do you stay (alive)? :iconyour-methamphetamine:your-methamphetamine 8 5
Literature
2016, tucking the year in
In this dream, I change. 
 
I tuck astray hair behind my ear without irritation,
slant over the child with a smile the world hasn't seen,
look the year in the eye before it stares back. I smile
so my sabr is documented - my attendance, a matter
of record. 
 
I feel my Pulse with a wrist half a world away, hush Aleppo
with my finger pressed to the parted lips of tear gas.
I taste ash and tell myself it is not children bones. 
 
I resist the urge to pray. Send thoughts with guilt.
Come up for air only to wish to have lost the ability to. 
 
In this dream, I remember the poem.
The one this soil once trembled underneath.
My pregnant mother's feet hurt with my added weight;
she always knew this world was not one for a heart
like mine; she didn't hear my heartbeat until I was breach
at birth. Somewhere in Kashmir, the valleys shake under
a new mother's footsteps. The Himalayas tremble
with a baby's fear. Somewhere between my smile and the pell
:iconyour-methamphetamine:your-methamphetamine
:iconyour-methamphetamine:your-methamphetamine 32 12
Literature
mother's little cataclysm
i was once colored to smithereens, prior to the greenstick fracture of the sky -
before the yellow gave in to the red, bruising guiltily, into night.
i remember when the words birthed between approximated vocal folds,
hissing when they touched along the vertical, were open wounds.
i remember the ache, bittering when it reached my tongue - more
salt than relief. always, less comfort than deceit.
cheating into the hollow breaths between my ribs, pretense
branched rootless. not once reached for the kiss of my spine,
just refusing the simple rebellion of growth. its tangles
reaching like aerophytes for the collar of my lungs,
always fruitless. when it left, there was air --
perhaps still digging in search of sunlight in the floor
of my mouth, but there was air.
it baited for my chest to take note, battle the pressure
and weigh the odds. check if it would be objectively secure to live
from here on out. i was once a cradled mess in my mother's
knapsack arms and some days, i am a fetal return
:iconyour-methamphetamine:your-methamphetamine
:iconyour-methamphetamine:your-methamphetamine 17 9
Literature
a poem on the underwhelming
allow me to step outside your mind's autopsis -
comet shower following its own end, how did you program
your last remnant of humanity this way?
I listen for the sound of my mind, panting,
punching for a way out of the numb density
of this cranial vault; do I get to admit how
taciturn I have convexed?
do I get to say this is taxing? this catastrophe
needs a self-destruct button unless
it is coded for the end, anyway.
I have imagined the eye of the storm falling asleep
when its winds run against the rotation of the earth -
finally, I hear it say, rest without time slipping through my fingers.
I don't know how long it's been since my chest
did not tighten at the thought of losing time; when was I
so unaware of my shortcomings? fatal flaw,
hello,
I did not foresee
this preempted consuming.
:iconyour-methamphetamine:your-methamphetamine
:iconyour-methamphetamine:your-methamphetamine 13 20
Literature
made to grow
formal as the dashing
of dawn on liminal expanses.
drawn up breaths that keep
the chest proud in the light
of all these
eons lost.
i was once a fang
embedded, i was once
the anger heading
with blinded eyes.
the sockets settled,
apneaic anchors
dropped.
where was i
when i
was lost?
--
here.
dormant as the flashing
of storms in hunger, I was
a furious five-part fester of locked passion.
my jest fulfilled its purpose;
my corneae bled like yesterday.
I was once the rest that soon followed
back from the siwaliks. I was once
the guilt guiding stars back
relentless home.
fingers grew delicate,
charges, dropped.
nestled in the womb,
no one asks where to go
from here.
--
reform and crash
in new accelerations with mettle
twisted, twined, and
blossoming. nurture seeds
of arching into new fogs.
you are long standing
with the sunset, and my
fingers tremble at
the echo of your shadow.
once i strummed the sixth
string and was dire to reap
the reverb. once i lumber
out of my own stupor
i might properl
:iconyour-methamphetamine:your-methamphetamine
:iconyour-methamphetamine:your-methamphetamine 13 6
Literature
elsewhere
most days,
I am a hair's breadth away from the air,
my mind a flailing gulp of heated altercation.
shame washes ashore every year, leaving no silt
and taking every DNA-defense against it; most days,
my legs fold and breathe like butterfly blinks,
my eyes are more familiar with the ground.
most days, I am more rubber than stone--
more silence than boned indifference.
:iconyour-methamphetamine:your-methamphetamine
:iconyour-methamphetamine:your-methamphetamine 12 4
Literature
gratitude
in the sun's shadow, he holds your hand.
he renames your choices, "b" - things hidden in nascent sight
and you wonder his wonder without bend. you wonder yourself
brittle, deep; you are the brontides of the rain before it decides
to reveal--
do you see the sky lit with your uncertainty?
do you see what he sees?
he sees light, nascent, before the colors succumbed to union,
before it broke the moon yellow.
he sees day is more red when it has to leave--
you are the storm the sun beckons when it needs a moment to itself;
I hope you see,
I hope you know.
:iconyour-methamphetamine:your-methamphetamine
:iconyour-methamphetamine:your-methamphetamine 12 3
Literature
The Gum-Tree Womb
(for my mother)
She says her gum-tree hands are not young anymore
and I want to tie their barks
together when she prostrates
to show her, our God has just loved
her longer.
I want to show her how humans scarred
mine because I didn't keep signs up:
"BEWARE, THIS FOREST IS BREATHING."
Just the sight of her warrants a search
for air; her own earth-scent is charged
without need for turbulence. You'll know
it's her
from the sound of her trees growing as loud
as she is quiet. Our chorus is unmistakable
pride because she swept her:
unwalked floor for deceit,
twigs for thorns,
leaves for too much safety--
veins beaten silver in her own image.
You cannot pinpoint her oroboros;
her reflection is three shoots
aiming through a canopy of green
for so much more than just the moon.
She doesn't ask us to look for God
anywhere outside the radius of home;
the gum tree is a gnarled temple
we happened to
every leap year after the end.
:iconyour-methamphetamine:your-methamphetamine
:iconyour-methamphetamine:your-methamphetamine 16 11
Literature
looking back, unaccepting
i. When I say I was all in, I imagined it a congenital accident--
tearing limb from my own limb to accept a disembodied lonely
across the tightrope of the universe.
I still hear your voice when I cannot sleep.
ii. I don’t remember when I wanted love to hurt at my mention;
all there is: my missing burned hotter than theirs,
my crushed felt too close to sand when theirs looked like shards at best,
my lonely was doused in acid made, truly, in Pakistan.
I stopped waiting for the pendulum to swing.
iii. When did forgiveness let your lungs breathe easier?
iv. I miss you for loving me despite everything, even
your own child.
v. I wish it was me, the one with whom it just
“worked,” where it was fluid like the siren-home I could never find.
I miss you in the way your collarbones dipped like a big blue
letting go of the land.
vi. I wish it had been me, just as I wish
It had been you.
:iconyour-methamphetamine:your-methamphetamine
:iconyour-methamphetamine:your-methamphetamine 13 4
Literature
inhibition excision
I love the worst of you, smacking empty bottles
on barred heavens, in your lonesome stupor--
dread drains through my peptic hide
every time I realize how far you stand
from my comfort;
I listen for your name with three fingers
pressed to my supine wrist.
:iconyour-methamphetamine:your-methamphetamine
:iconyour-methamphetamine:your-methamphetamine 12 4
Literature
a poem on my unforgiveness.
I have flooded basins of pages
with poems, pointing to your lonely
in a red only she can pull off.
I cannot forgive your quiet but
I know I would never have done
the same,
I know your words still have my aftertaste and someone who could keep
me so carefully in the dim light of convenience
cannot be hushed from my pulse.
Trust me,
I've tried.
I remember you when I forget I'm happy;
you forget me when you remember you are.
:iconyour-methamphetamine:your-methamphetamine
:iconyour-methamphetamine:your-methamphetamine 31 3
Literature
Toxic
When his fingers comb through the forest
of my hair, he means, "What scared you
to be so quiet? I hear every tree fall."
He points at each breadth of my scalp,
"I am around to listen."
How do I tell him, my bark is ever-
echoing thunder transcending its own monsoon?
It relishes its discordance,
collecting over earfuls of corpses, the jolt
so much more biting
than the impact.
:iconyour-methamphetamine:your-methamphetamine
:iconyour-methamphetamine:your-methamphetamine 13 3
Literature
His Spine
Your back is the coal-sheering ember
of burning paper-- I remember your rings
ridging your form, every
knuckle snatching my last trip
from the water.
I cannot resurface with the tip of my nose
memorizing your every rise;
I cannot breathe, knowing your skin
will never be familiar.
I tattooed you spineless but my knees
still have gashes from the nights
we prayed together; I miss finding god
somewhere between your hips,
your lips, lithe - soft -
wrapped around my flaming core.
:iconyour-methamphetamine:your-methamphetamine
:iconyour-methamphetamine:your-methamphetamine 16 16
Literature
?
despite the middle school teacher
coursing through my mother's body,
I have become an overwriter.
I remember how her back looked,
arched over me like protection from bad handwriting. I learned to hold a pencil her way,
my eyes were supposed to be half
a foot away from the page
just so my back would never need to.
my rebellion started with the i's, no longer
were they dotted an eyelash away from the body--
they were rounded like water for lost
men in the desert.
and when I learned to conjugate,
the i's stopped existing. they became funnels of deceit -- an afterthought
of a tree trunk I was too distracted by the leaves
to draw-- feeling my mother's eyes
bore into my temples, "how can you overwrite an i?
how can you forget yourself?"
I don't know when I lost letters between
joining them. it was supposed to be shorthand
never the short end of the stick;
I promise I'll find the patience
to dot them like they deserve
and write their civil, umbrella-curve
without
arching.
:iconyour-methamphetamine:your-methamphetamine
:iconyour-methamphetamine:your-methamphetamine 7 13
Literature
re: would it be terrible of me
I never thought less of tattoos than
When we were exchanging notes on our
Missing spines.
Two times, three, four-- and now I
Scream, I've been to cities renowned for
Love. Love, looking isn't the same
As having.
Home, love, candles when not needed,
Wine, and symbols of equal
opposites.
I longed for letters written of
letters written on
what?
My chilly muscles and the abstinence of
paper when it needs that least--
When I need that least.
I whispered to comets headed
your way and became
hopelessly addicted to
the sound of the wind off
the ocean.
(We never were good at letting velvet skies be)

I think about tattoos more than I think
of your dimples of Venus
as they disappeared when you bent
and took the weakness in my knees with you.
I can see now how your hair
inks the wind on the shoreline,
how you hear nothing but its descent
and needless rise--
I know now
how hard you listened for the tear
of the moon's tendons
as it pulled
and pulled
the tide till we washed
ashore.
(I could never
:iconyour-methamphetamine:your-methamphetamine
:iconyour-methamphetamine:your-methamphetamine 10 4
Literature
teach me how to forget
your palms have lost their creases
from pressing recognition out
of your every worry line
and wrinkle;
I keep looking for my name in your poems.
:iconyour-methamphetamine:your-methamphetamine
:iconyour-methamphetamine:your-methamphetamine 8 2


my beautiful literature tag is made by the superb, lithium-cocoon :heart:


deviantID

your-methamphetamine
Orooj
Artist | Student | Literature
Pakistan
buy my poetry book, HOME AND OTHER DEBRIS here.

Orooj-e Zafar's first collection is a dance through the lyric of memory. Twisting shapes of childhood with femininity, religion, and family. These poems delve into the becoming of the self. Though Ms. Zafar is only in the beginning of her career, the precise, colorful imagery makes it clear this is a writer who knows how to sculpt language. These words are powerful, heartfelt, and rooted in truth.
- Clementine von Radics, author of Mouthful of Forevers and To Teenage Girls with Wild Ambitions and Trembling Hearts.

Orooj is definitely more active on her facebook than she is here, if you want to get a hold of her. She likes poetry with tea and writes too many self-addressed poem-letters in hopes of salvaging her relationship with herself. She thinks she's getting there but until then, she allows herself quiet mornings with Troye Sivan and Perfume Genius.


HOME AND OTHER DEBRIS | facebook | instagram | bandcamp| blog

Orooj also won the 2nd Annual Judith Khan Memorial Poetry Prize, was a runner up of the Pakistan Poetry Slam 2016 and won the Where Are You Press Poet Contest 2016.





Interests

Activity


just dropping in to say hello/I'm alive/I don't particularly want to be/but shit needs to be done/I hope you're well, in no particular order.

it's been a while since I've updated this space so enjoy my little hopeful poem here:
why do you stay (alive)?- redemption
- Kaveh Akbar
- will as stubborn as the Siachen
- my sister's eyes
- future adopted dogs
- I'm not done hating myself yet
- my cat nuzzled in a crook of my neck
- winter mornings
- the chance to watch my mother age with nothing but grace
- morning chai
- my father slowing into retirement
- finally learning the name of the stars
- learning to live up to my name
- my name
- watching my friend's daughters grow up
- yellow summer dresses
- a good conversation
- remnants of hope
- hope the weight is not forever
- hope so transcendent this is not forever
- the pain makes poems
- the poems might stay forever


a lot has happened since the last time we spoke, friends.

1. I removed myself from a press that was outright robbing me and started my own press here in Pakistan, after my own name, which I'm only using to release a second edition of my first book, Home and Other Debris.

2. I won the 2018 National Poetry Slam and became the only woman to earn the title in the competition's three year running! that was pretty cool.

3. I finished writing my second book, tentatively titled, heart the size of a loosening fist with a press that makes me feel like a Real Person and Artist who Deserves Respect.

4. my petri dish of mental illnesses is a roller-coaster ride I am not enjoying in the least so I delude myself into staying in the moment and focusing at each task at hand. it's been working.

5. this glowing review of my book keeps me alive.

how have you been doing, friends? what keeps you here?

sending love from my too-big heart to you all, always. :heart:

- O

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- redemption
- Kaveh Akbar
- will as stubborn as the Siachen
- my sister's eyes
- future adopted dogs
- I'm not done hating myself yet
- my cat nuzzled in a crook of my neck
- winter mornings
- the chance to watch my mother age with nothing but grace
- morning chai
- my father slowing into retirement
- finally learning the name of the stars
- learning to live up to my name
- my name
- watching my friend's daughters grow up
- yellow summer dresses
- a good conversation
- remnants of hope
- hope the weight is not forever
- hope so transcendent this is not forever
- the pain makes poems
- the poems might stay forever







why do you stay (alive)?
breaking the radio silence with one of my April poems. The prompt was "why do you stay?" and I thought for only a moment about the things that actually keep me alive when I'm perpetually suicidal & it turned out kinda nice/made me smile.

if you're anywhere near the parameters of my head space, know that we may be strangers but I'm here with you and it is plenty. it is plenty to stay just one more day, everyday.
Loading...
I can't remember why I update this, but lately I've been learning to take things at face value. I've been trying to identify what parts of me stay behind when my previous anchors lift their own weight. I've been trying to pinpoint what makes me so heavy. I miss Chester the same way I miss myself.

When I've tried to explain to anyone else how my fears have come out of my mouth so many times I may as well have a rosary in my hands, I am always told that I am above them and their power. And I am. I made peace with my demons a long time ago; they just haven't made their peace with me.

So this lingering dread can live out its time but there are days on never-ending lists I have stared shit in the eye and asked it to bring it. It was brought. And then it was brought the fuck down. Wherever you are, whoever you are, you have got this and I fucking believe in you.

:heart:
terrified that my book HOME AND OTHER DEBRIS is out now! it's so pretty it's making me cry. I would love to feature your reviews once you get your lil mittens on your copies.

if you'd like to review it for your blog/magazine/press, shoot me a message with your email address. I'll be happy to send you a pdf, or you can buy the book here: goo.gl/SJHB3C

happy reading! <3

Comments


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:iconpatchworklynx:
PatchworkLynx Featured By Owner Mar 8, 2018   Writer
happy birthday!!! <3
Reply
:iconadrolyn:
Adrolyn Featured By Owner Mar 8, 2018  Hobbyist Digital Artist
Have a nice birthday :party: :cake: :party:  =)
Reply
:iconangelserum:
angelserum Featured By Owner Mar 8, 2017  Student Writer
Happy birthday, friend! Hope it was a great one. :heart:
Reply
:iconadrolyn:
Adrolyn Featured By Owner Mar 8, 2017  Hobbyist Digital Artist
Have a nice birthday :party: :cake: :party:  =)
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