POETRY BY KA

  Spring at My Door I hope this spring brings colors, the ones that faded cruelly, the ones torn away by force, leaving my world pale and silent. The autumn of my life is over now— it taught me loss, it stripped me bare, it asked me to let go of what I loved even when my hands were still holding on. Winter came heavy, dark and endless, but I survived its cold nights, counting breaths instead of dreams. Now spring stands at my door. I open my heart again— carefully, bravely— with scars still warm and hope trembling in my palms. The darkness left a while ago, quietly, without announcement. And light— soft, patient light— has begun to reach me again. I hope this spring brings colors back, not the old ones I lost in the dark, but new shades born of pain and courage, colors that know how to bloom after breaking.                          KULSOOM AFZAL

  You, Me and Tea You, me and tea— life full of energy, winter evenings, a hot cup between our hands. Laughing at silly jokes, wrapped in one shawl, you, me and tea. Making promises for the future, filling the present with happiness, no more regrets of the past. You, me and tea— the air is cold, but our hearts are warm. Your presence completes everything. You, me and tea.                           KULSOOM AFZAL

 The nights grew darker, yet somehow they began to shine. My life once felt like a long descent into shadows, each day heavier than the last. But darkness, I learned, is not the end— it is a womb. At the edge of my breaking, I found light. Not waiting for me— but rising from within me. I gathered myself from the ruins of yesterday, washed my wounds with patience, and whispered kindness to the parts of me that were forgotten. I gave myself a rebirth.  The glow I carry now is not borrowed from the sun— it is earned, forged in silence, polished by pain, protected by peace. I walk lighter now. Closer to light each day. Closer to myself. I left behind what stole my breath, what dimmed my soul, what asked me to shrink for comfort. And in choosing peace, I chose life. I am glowing day by day— not because the dark is gone, but because it no longer owns me.                          ...

  Winter, Gently The nights changed without asking. They became slower, warmer — as if winter itself had learned her name. She would sit by the window, not waiting, not hoping, just knowing . Somewhere, someone she loved was breathing the same dark, wrapped in the same cold. The distance between them existed, but it no longer mattered. Some closeness doesn’t measure itself in steps or walls. Their hearts had found a rhythm — subtle, unspoken. No promises spoken aloud. No need to explain. Every night, their souls met quietly, the way rivers meet the sea — naturally, without effort. She felt it in the calm of her chest, in the softness of her thoughts. Love didn’t arrive loudly. It stayed gently. Winter passed through the hours, but it never touched her the same way again. Because somewhere in the silence, she was not alone. She was chosen — softly, steadily — and that was enough.

  They Couldn’t See Me Bloom They couldn’t see my glow, because light unsettles those who live in shadows. They couldn’t see my talent, because my rising reminded them of their stillness. To them, a broken soul must bow its head, wear grief like an identity, stay quiet, stay small. They believed pain was my final form. When I was hurting, they were absent— no hands to hold me, no voice to say stay . But step by step, with trembling feet and a brave heart, I gathered my worth again. I stitched myself back together with patience, with hope, with tears that taught me strength. Now they say my bloom isn’t worthy of anything— because healing was never part of their plan for me. But I learned this: a flower does not ask if it deserves to bloom. It blooms because it survived the storm. And so did I.                          KULSOOM AFZAL