Zahra

Zahra Jul 7

It is that time of year
when the sky and
I forget we
were part of the
same clock.
The sun passes like
a stranger,
brushing past me
no warmth,
no pause.
The moon does not
show me her inner
blush, dark pink
blemishes of light.
The rainbow leaves
beneath the meadow
before I begin
to wonder.
I feel unmoored
Like a tide swelling
forward, unsure
if it’s coming to rest
or could be turned
away again.
There’s fog in my
mind, and birds
sleep on my
neural wires.
no power.
no clarity.

Zahra Jul 6

Glass

Soon after being
struck by
the wind and
your wayward love—
The doors of my
heart opened
Like a double-sliding
window.
I inhaled too sharply —
and the shards came in
with the air.

Zahra Jul 4

Untitled

I wear cotton, not crowns.
My scent isn’t silk and sugar.
I breathe a simpler kind of air.
I don’t rest where royals do.
I don’t cheer in their holy halls.
My hands wear no jewels,
but they carry
the weight of generations.
And still, I rise —
quiet, fully.
That’s how legacies
are born.

Zahra Jul 3

A Tree Never Weeps On Time

A tree never
weeps at night.
The birds
are coming—
Too eager,
Too heavy.
The grass
beneath
sleeps,
still and
silent.
The fruits are
surfacing,
slow and sweet.
It breaks down
at dawn—I see
geriatric leaves
falling,
In the middle
of everything.
A tree can’t
cry, instantly like
human with
freedom—
Only the leaves,
that endured
Too much,
fall on time.
They dry beneath
stars, and by morning,
crumble, golden
at the root.
The grass leans
inward,
Its blades curled
Like a listener
carrying the weight
of someone
else’s grief.

🌳🌳

Zahra Jul 2

Endless One

They say love
ends—
That there is a
last one.
But how can
that be?
The wind
becomes the
hands of god—
whenever I
need them.
Clouds pass like
My father’s shadow—
present,
silent,
soft.
Birds scatter at
dusk like
breadcrumbs,
feeding the
hungry sky.
Fallen leaves
pat the earth
where,
I'd be buried.
How could I
not love
the newborn
flowers,
trembling naked
in sunlight,
and the bees
that circle them
like praise?
The sun being
my faith—
steady and warm.
The moon tells
me—how little
I understand.
And the stars
lean in
to comfort
the dark.
I love them
like old pottery,
and aged cheese—
weathered, imperfect,
full of story.

No—
This isn’t my last love.
It’s my endless one.

Zahra Jul 1

The Smallest Things

The smallest things
in the world wait
to contribute—
seeds of thoughts
pressed in my heart,
holding forests
in their sleep.
I see the hand still
clenched, in the crib
its neck craning
like a pigeon’s
over the ledge,
as if the whole
world is waiting
below.

Zahra Jun 30

Jenga

Love demands
openings,
tender ruptures—
And I’m too raw
to receive them.
I hover myself
to keep
from falling—
Like blocks,
stacked in silence,
each part of me
resting on the next.
One wrong shift,
and I could unravel.
So my body
learned
not to split open
for want.