INTRODUCTION

As Patterson hands her a brown rusty leather diary the size of the little girl's hand to look about
the poetry he has written, I watched this scene imagining beholding the diary myself and writing
all the concoctions that brewed in my mind. Hi, I'm Maryam Durrani, 18 years old. I first
watched the movie Patterson when I was 12 years of age. It's a movie about a bus driver who
finds a pen and paper to relieve him of his stressors. When I watched the movie and this scene in
general, I thought to give a knack at writing purely to find if it relieves me of my stressors , to
say the least, writing did more for me than just that. I could never articulate the worlds colliding
in me to anyone, I've been a black sheep all my life, but reading authors and writing my own
things made me realize that maybe we all are black sheep in this world. Some people like me are
aware of it while others can ignore it to go about their day and live till one day they meet their
end in the dirt. I have always felt more than others around me and it's a torment to live in my
mind I believe, but writing gave me all the freedom I could only wish for. Being a girl and in
Pakistan doesn't exactly leave you with a lot of freedom to explore the world, does it? so when
the outside world closed off for me the inside vaster world opened up to me. It's quite powerful
to concur with what you agree with and disagree with what you disdain. You have the say which
you never had in your real life.
I have struggled immensely in my life and have been my own audience and historian recording
in paper all that I see unfolding. For once all my pessimism came out to something worthwhile.
People like me could relate to me and find something familiar in my writing. Familiarity brings
about comfort and at the core we all yearn to be understood. Humans as I see it are all too simple
and complicated at once. But at the root all they want is to be understood for what even they can't
comprehend. At the age of 13 I stepped foot in Russian literature, studying Dostoevsky and
Tolstoy. It was rather odd to be relating to old cynical Russian men but also very fun. I felt
accepted in my misery , felt chosen to carry the weight of my tragedies and elaborate on it. Still
to this day I struggle but that is what happens when you understand what should be left
untouched, in Seneca words “He suffers more than necessary, who suffers before it is necessary”.
On a lighter note, I'm fond of cats. They are the only thing that can cheer me up without fail, I
have been sheltering cats ever since I can remember. I don't particularly fancy the idea of house
cats, it seems to be caging and isolating for the animal which is against its nature. I always
shelter stray cats and pet them if they let me. I'm not against people who prefer dogs over cats
but wanting to be worshiped and have a dog pledge undying loyalty to you tells me all that I
need to know about you. Cats are moody and unpredictable but so are people. Any who that is all
I have to say for my introduction I hope it wasn't too tormenting.
To the readers I truly wish you enjoy my writing thoroughly and if there are any question you
wish to ask, I will leave my Instagram here; @ft.maryamd
To anyone who wants to help me improve my writing you are more than welcome to criticize as I
am aware I'm still a work-in-progress
Calling My Name
Walking through the trail
Inviting the cold to hostage me in a cocoon
Hearing the chirping of the rail
In this inscrutable cryptic I feel swooned
Be fooled by the looks I could buy
I can't stay here forever, or can I?
Collect time in a flask
Whereby the pages of red, I spy
Revisit it when I'm morose
Imbuing my abstractions in a cruise
A last glance of the times
Of all the funny crimes
I close my eyes and hear flurry accelerate
Feel my cold clothes pressing against my skin
Unbrushed hair whirling with the Gail
The thickly coated mascara ransoming dame
The depth of the sockets scribbling circles of pain
Earbuds freshening with the reverberate of the train
I can hear it all calling my name.
Elements of loneliness and being one with nature is highlighted in this piece. Each line carries a
very deep and elongated meaning. But to save time I leave my readers to make out from it what
they believe to have decoded.

Catch-22
Resist the screams, don't jolt out
For if they see what lies beneath
Is a direful cry for help you heed
Let it fleet or let it eat
Through the concrete walls of grim notion
Devised into seats
You'll find me in front where I silently bleat
The audience decidedly applauses at my grief
Till no ‘you’ is left no ‘self’ no ‘me’
Just was and could Be's
A humble question to bid farewell to this plea
Have I made this bigger than it ever ought to be?
This piece remains very disturbing to me, I wrote it in very hard times full of confusions and
questions. The deadliest thing to do is to betray yourself, that I believe leads to losing your sanity
by extension losing oneself. I hope this brought closure to anyone going through the same thing.
Weeping Willow
I carry myself like a baby through the day
1,2 puffs 5,6 to keep the devils at bay
At night the dreams haunt me back to a life so grey
I the vessel that simmers, braising but its own supple clay
I wake up and decidedly carry myself like a baby through the day,
Habits took over I am all habitual as a stray
There are two swords drawn at my airways
But for now, it is bothersome to seize the ballet
I shall continue to carry myself like a baby through the day,
Days were my years
Years were my life
The agony, pain motion ally worsening inside
Urge to see red still foams up in my mind
The punishment remains for you have,
Comprehended what was left for the insane
I was presented wholly my own self to betray
Spurge on thy puffs
Don't dwell the inveigh
As I will ever so slightly carry myself like a baby through the day,
Till dawn swaps the clock, assuring me,
That nothing has ever changed.

I believe in our life we have to cater to ourselves like an infant, to get up, eat breakfast and go
about the day. If we lose that care and tenderness with which we deal with ourselves, our daily
affairs and life will be greatly hindered.

FM 325
It keeps coming back like a jammed radio
How could you haven't a link to sow
Her awe less voice reassures to put on the greatest show
The real deal make believe, stuff she verily expects from me
I, the forsaken piece, once again left to please
But suddenly, he's sat there observing me
I grin, as he convincingly, progresses to wreck her peace
Alas the forsaken feels, springs and stretches, for they are free
Though the work remains incomplete,
It keeps coming back like a jammed radio
Which happens to now be in the repairment store.

The darkness we all embody is a constant struggle we deal with on a daily basis. Professional
help or emotional support is necessary for the “radio” to run smoothly. We deal with an
antagonist (in this case our own self) and a protagonist (external emotional support) which helps
us to live our life to its fullest. This is a rather humorous piece highlighting recovery and push
through each day.

Shiuli
I need 10 gallons of water to feel alright

A poem growing in the back of my mind

A feeble stem whose H2O was lacked in the pine

Xylem of which couldn't remain intact

I need two packs of cheap smokes to feel alright

What fatal flaw is it that remains so misaligned

Stunts the growth of the leaves one at a time

I want 10 years of sleep to feel alright

The trunk to show 10 rings at best when it is spined

I want no more than that, from it, nothing to be dwined

Give me it and

I will grow maybe to the skyline

Or farther so, where there is no sight.

Deprived
Let's wait, for my life to be as pretty as the weather

Let's wait, for my tears to fall

Let’s wait, till winter so I can wear my leather

Let’s wait till I forget it all

With every drop, I get more thirsty

With every view I am left with less sight

With every laugh, the hollow broadens inside

How could it be that you haven't loved life?

After all this time, you never felt alright?

I pity you, allow me to weep at this woeful plight

Maybe you remember the bad as if the good never existed

How could you be so deprived

Stone From North

Collects the dust and soars right past

A sound which can be heard

A sound that frightens us

Leaves a rather milky cast

The scarf gets stuck on the tree’s top

The duck start looking for their hiding spot

The fall of a leaf or fly

Fall of beauty from the sky

Paint scattered on the ground

Palette hanging from the crown

Before the world chimes in to hug you, for lonesome days

The world is filled with fallen stars

The longing wind comes at last