Returning Home

In the smoke I smell
Dead animals,
Dead neighbors, friends, and family members.
In the mist I see
All those who were once alive.
Behind me
Our town stands
Burned down to ashes;
Only skeletons remain.
This war has taken away so much.
In the rubble on the streets
I see
The way things once were.
Happy homes
Filled with laughter
Children playing
Stickball in the street.
Now
So much has been taken
Away from me.

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poem by Rabia Minhas
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It's ME

It's here
In these words
I can open my chest with the precision of an expert surgeon
And
Expose my heart and bare my soul.
It leaves me vulnerable...
Makes me wonder
Do you like what you see
Now that you know the real me?
This is the one place I don't hide
I don't pretend.
So, you see...
But,
What good does it do?
It's catharsis for me.
What's in it for you?
True,
I don't have to share so freely...
Besides you,
Who here really knows me?

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poem by Rabia Minhas
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A Poem Without A Title

It's not always beautiful or eloquent
My pain on paper
Sometimes it lacks finesse
It's a dull ache
Sometimes it screams
Because it can no longer stand encased
Quiet, silent, soft as a dove's feather
Like eyes welling up with tears
Lips quivering as teeth bite
Into the back of my lower lip
Hands clench into fists
As nails quietly, but forcefully dig
Into flesh
Leaving grooves..
My pain sometimes wants to scream
Sometimes, it is so beautiful in its tragedy
It's like a fine sad ballet
A piece of violin music mourning
The moon glowing as a beautiful orb
Alone in the sky

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poem by Rabia Minhas
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The Auction

Buy a piece of God today.
He's going for half price.

Buy a piece of God today.
Save your soul,
Buy some salvation,
Save your soul from Damnation.

The man on the street corner
Has all the answers.
He's selling the Divine
From the back of a truck.

'Too hot to handle, too cold to hold,
Come on baby unburden your soul.'

It's raining.
Mud is splashing.
The pavement where the man stands,
Is dry.

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poem by Rabia Minhas
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I Shouldn't … but, I do.

I like the way you look at me,
Every time you look at me...
I shouldn't
But I do
I shouldn't
But I do.
I like the way you talk to me,
When you say the things you shouldn't be...
I shouldn't
But I do
I shouldn't
But I do.
I liked the feeling of your company,
When you'd carve out some time for me...
I shouldn't
But I do
I shouldn't
But I do.
I like the sound of your voice,
Pulling at me, like I have no choice,

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poem by Rabia Minhas
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Dying Soldier

I taste blood.
I am dying.
I see things more clearly now.
I feel the broken bones
Within my exhausted sack of a body
And I know
I am dying.
I see the doctors come to examine me.
I know there is nothing they can do.
Too many bullet wounds.
So much blood has gone.
The nurses look at me
With pity and pain.
I cry, silently, at night
Taste the saltiness of my tears,
Hear the screams of the madmen some of us have become.
We will never be whole again.
I turn away from everything.
The drugs make me drowsy, but don't make me forget.
I'd have nightmares in my sleep.

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poem by Rabia Minhas
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Refugees

They want us to leave.
They say it's too dangerous.
Neighbor killing neighbor
In the middle of the night.
Who can you trust?
Nobody.
You never know what will happen.
So the neighbors and I
And my family
Gather our belongings and leave.
The village behind us
Quiet
Gives the effect of an empty house,
Where the last remaining person
Has died.
But nobody will know for weeks.
We walk on
Miles upon miles
With frightened children crying,
Old people dying, and the tired

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poem by Rabia Minhas
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In Response to Your Request

I woke up today
Loving the weather...
Taking comfort in the warmth of my bed.
Enjoying the feeling of the cocoon I'd made with my blankets..
Listening to the rain against my window.
I stayed there happy
Because
I hate waking up to an alarm...
So
The weekends are especially nice...
And
I savor the feeling of not feeling rushed.
As I went about my day
Doing all the little things that always need to get done..
I thought of you
As I sometimes do..
And caught myself smiling
About our latest correspondence...
I have to say,
I wasn't sure how to respond,

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poem by Rabia Minhas
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A Casualty

The old man sits
On top of a brown
Battered suitcase
This now contains
All his belongings
I remember him
He was the toymaker
In our village
He was always a happy man
Now I see him
As we flee
The light has gone
From his eyes
There is fear there
That stops me cold
What does he know?
What has he seen?
He sits there
Waiting for his family
People pass by

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poem by Rabia Minhas
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Talk to Me

Talk to me..
Why can't you
Just
Talk to me..
Taking ten steps back
It's what I do
When I don't know
What else
I can do
Shutting down
It's just
Preservation
I feel like a kite
Being pulled by a string
You let go for a length
Then
Want to pull me back
But
I've never stopped you
From trying to

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poem by Rabia Minhas
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