Another untold story

My arms were locked and I tried to get lose, holding on to my popping hopes, burning with each smouldering bruise.

Anza Iftikhar December 26, 2014
I walk down the road,

Alone in the dark,

Hiding my past,

Hiding my face,

Hiding what has left a mark.


Pointing fingers,

Hurting words and each curse.

All faith dies,

Strength drown,

And hopes disperse.


A blot has nested,

A taint that is so weak yet so strong,

I knock doors,

Search whither I link,

To whom I belong?


They left me forgotten,

Forsaken in the crowd,

To die with charge,

To bury my voice under the shroud.


To conceal all secrets,

To tuck away each word,

To masquerade the truth,

To let the story stay blurred.


My arms were locked and I tried to get lose,

Holding on to my popping hopes,

Burning with each smouldering bruise.


My body froze to ice,

Cold sweats dripping down my face;

They say it’s my fault that I gave away my dignity,

My grace.


But I stopped,

I shouted,

I tried to run away.

Tried to save my dignity,

My grace,

My honour of clay.


Your voice echoes,

Your face runs through again,

While I stand vulnerable,

Dissolving in tears,

But all in vain.


Isn’t it his glory,

That deserves a taint?

While my grace is questioned,

And he walks like a saint.


Isn’t he my sinner,

Making off with my worth?

While my dignity simmers down,

And he makes merry mirth.


With my honour bargained,

With my grace sold,

Where do I find a strand of hope,

A grip of faith,

A hand to hold?


My soul breathes last,

And hopes muffle inside,

Where the storm spins within,

Where calamities reside.


Alas! My tears break off,

And I go way of all flesh,

With all the shallow poise,

And the words that thresh.


Another scent decays,

In the name of glory,

Another hope withers away,

Buds another untold story...
Anza Iftikhar A Sophomore at LUMS. Antithetically a poetess and a Dubstep fan. She tweets @AnzaIftikhar (
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