You Ask Me Why


You ask me why I’m quiet.


You question my silence

And think me indifferent.


People are crying all around me.

You nudge me to express my pain too.

I stare back at you.

It’s a cold, cruel night.

I shiver and don the cloak,

The cloak of mourning.

Yet I stand aside,

Apart from the crowd.

Distance myself from the tears.

Walk away from the vigils.

Close my eyes to the blood.

Muffle my ears to the sighs and cries,

For I have been dead a long time.

My heart once skipped a beat,

Then another and another,

One after the other they left,

With each school they bombed,

With each mosque they blasted,

With each church they destroyed,

With each bullet they fired,

With each suicide attack

With every breath that suspired

From souls young and old,

Lives that bled out,

When terror first struck

That is when my heart skipped a beat,

Then another and another.

Why then should our cry be the loudest now

When the monster is beyond our reach?

We can offer nothing but our own grief,

To the ones whose grief we cannot equal?

Let them at least cry in peace–

For living in peace is beyond our reach.

Let us not burden their sorrow with our own.

For we did not cry out at the time

When the beast that slew the children

Was still in its ugly infancy. . .


(Note: Dedicated to the victims of Army Public School Attack in Peshawar, Pakistan on December 16, 2014)



Memories Undone


I’m afraid of what I’ll find,

In the pages held close.

Between spines old and worn.

But relax I tell myself.

It’s just a bunch of memories,

Just a bunch I say out loud —

And I count till I know.

Memories from times past,

Of love and loss.

Of wide smiles and knitted brows.

Memories tucked away,

From times aimlessly imagined,

Of places and people,

That never existed.

Except feebly coming alive,

Into the folds of my mind,

Playfully hiding ¬¬–

Between the heart beats…

Today they sit inside,

The pale rimmed pages.

Like hair fallen out,

Scattered on the floors,

Unwanted and lifeless,

Yet sacred to the heart.


About the Poet
20150111_154712Mubeshra J. Pracha, a Pakistani poet. She would like to call herself a ‘logophile’ and an avid reader.  She wrote her first poem at age 5 which also got published in Young Times, a famous magazine for children. A number of her poems on themes of terrorism and life have gotten published in a local English newspaper’s magazine US. From time to time my articles on social issues get published in English newspapers’ Blog section. By profession she is an academic with experience in teaching school and university students. She has co managed a blog ( on social and political issues for 3 years. She has also edited English Magazine while on job as an English instructor. She is passionate about baking, photography and experimental video making. She is independently worked on short videos by the name of ‘As Kids See It’ capturing children’s reaction to social happenings around them.