top of page


Updated: Aug 12, 2021

Written By Imtiyaz Pandow

In the series of betrayals,

I saw her - my beloved

being stabbed in the back

by the witch in makeup

who gifted the red-soaked tulips.

Am I being silenced

to not counter or alarm,

to bear the brunt

and watch the brutal fate

from stabs of the witch

bruising my beloved?


I kept watching - mute spectator

moving on - motionless

crying, but emotionless.

I live in that barren piece of heart

of my agrarian beloved

where lovers unfurl pain

in the red and dark flags

being hoisted on her tomb.

The stars are not dancing tonight.

Moon too, stopped to shine bright.

I shall sleep in the cold

lap of my beloved,

till the rays of sun at dawn

trespass the windowpanes

and reflect hope in my eyes.

42 views0 comments

Recent Posts

See All


bottom of page