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The Empty Hands


Uzma Sadaf

I write poetry

This way I confess my sins

I am very coward

I try to hide

The darkness within me

I try to suppress that voice

Which is within me and has many layers

And does not allow me to rest

This creates an itch within me

Which drags me on thorns

I try to hide those wounds which I receive

And hiding all this

I create a new face

To get rid of myself

I express myself

Who am I?

I begin to search myself

But every evening when I come back home

I remain as empty handed as ever.

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