The Price Of Maturity

Omama Qazi

She is trying way too hard

To be tough

Doesn’t want to be a glass

Reflective, smooth and Fragile 

Thinks she might shatter,

In the world full of stones

She is striving hard

 To be rough.

I appreciate her ____ efforts 

Her concerns are valid

Her worries are genuine 

To be tough and

To be rough.

But I see

A strange, unfamiliar Aura 

She shows or may reflects

My god how fast is she

She Left far behind

A Careless, an innocent teenager

That has never again shown up

Turned into a calculated grown up 

Very tough

Very rough.

I just want to tell her

OH MY DEAR!

What have you done to yourself 

You turned into a 

Scorching sun,

Rebellious storm,

Grumpy thunderstorm.

You were never like this

You had shades of the blue sky

Colors of the rainbow 

Shine of the stars

Calmness of the moon.

What made you like this?

Don’t try this hard

DON’T BE SO ROUGH

DON’T BE SO TOUGH.

READ MY EYES

I heard you read eyes,

Wonder if I could be

A journal for you to read,

Desperate… eager,

Always in need.

Can you read

Eyes filled with tears,

Or must I wipe them away?

Could you please

Read my eyes?

Do you see forgotten dreams

Scattered in my gaze?

And hopes hanging or dying?

Do you hear my happiness

Screaming or crying?

Do my eyes conceal

The way I do?

I wish they don’t

I want to show

Things I can’t tell.

In my plain eyes,

My hopes hovered

Craving to be seen

And the true me,

Waiting to be discovered.