A Majestic Night

Come dear beloved,

let’s travel to yesteryear,

where history was the present. 

Come to see the beauty of past from a balcony of present time.

How could you not be in an awe,

that when the night falls, 

under velvety sky,

the moonlight comes out, 

whispering us lullaby,

and let our heart dances with the stars,

let our soul get indulged with the time that goes nowhere, ‘but right here, in front of us, 

showing the beauty of past in present time.”


A majestic night of visiting the past through present time.

– July 2017, Badshahi Mosque, Lahore –




“Whenever I see beautiful scenery,
I remember you.
Not because I desire to be close to you, to enjoy the magnificent views of natures,
but it is because every beautiful thing, reminds me of you.
Your beauty is reflected on it.

Sometimes, when I could listen to my heartbeat,
I realise how my heart and yours are beating for the same purpose,
as both are beating you.
Some might say that you are the reason whom I want to live,
and I would say you’re the life whom I wanted to forever be lived in.

You are not the muse of my poetry,
rather the soul of it.
You are the one who could ever ignited the soul in me,
a soul whom I never knew, existed inside.

But somehow you’re like a paradox,
the poison who have saved me from feeling numb,
numbness about life, about love, about you.
You are the wound that will be felt as fresh cut, yet you are the potion that could heal the wound.

From you I have learnt to find rainbow inside darkness.
While everyone is searching for happiness,
I happen to search you.

It was funny that I have never been lost before,
but I did get lost when I met you,
and amazingly, inside your maze,
I found my way back to home, to you, to love.

You are the madness,
the storm,
who have made me feel peaceful.

Darker than darkest, I could still see you.
Louder than loudest, I could still hear you.
I have never felt peace in such chaotic chaos.

You are the magnificent magician,
whose deceiving eyes have been mesmerizing my heart into a soulful tale.
I have been writing for awhile,
but when you came, that’s when I realise,
that writing could become alive.

When the heart writes,
it’s called poetry.
When my heart writes,
it’s called you.”


  • This poem is taken from my debut poetry book, “Words of Sunset”.


My Phantom



Hatred. Hate.

Who doesn’t know those words. In fact nowadays, it seems to be the only word that is common to spread between us, it seems to be the word that is easy to practise it in everyday life. I am not a saint, and I do believe that myself have become a regular practitioner of this word.

I hate one particular thing, I hate one particular person. I hate two particular things, I hate two particular persons. I hate three particular things, I hate three particular persons. I hate things, I hate people. I hate everything, I hate everybody. I hate life. I hate me. 

And just like a rapid fire, this ‘hatred’ spreads widely without warning, and easily. To stop, is almost impossible.

As I wrote this poem below, couple of years back, I knew at any point of life this word has to change into love.

I have not succeeded.

-Phantom of Hatred-

“I will find a way,
in my phantom of hatred,
to love you.

Even though,
everytime the wind carries your name,
and whisper it into my ears,
the stream of unpleasant memory,
gushes from my mind,
and letting my heart covers in tears.

But still,
I will find a way,
in my phantom of hatred,
to love you.” (Lan)

  • This poetry is one of the poems that are written on my debut book, “Words of Sunset”.

Me And Why



Why you chose to write poetry? It is already hard to earn your place in writing world, let alone a poetry.”

Why you prefer to exist behind the curtain? Why don’t you like to be on spotlight?”

Why you prefer to be silent? Why you don’t want to talk?”

and too many other ‘why’ questions.

The word ‘why’ is perhaps one the most offensive words to me, and at the same time it happens to be the most stimulating word, too. When my reason of action and/or my statement is being questioned, that dislike nauseatic feeling starts to creep me in. Immediately I would feel as if I am being judged, being doubted; as if somebody would point out my flaws; as if I am not good enough; as if I am not perfect, although deep inside me I know how much imperfect I am. And when the word ‘why’ becomes too many, that my one simple explanation is not good enough, I would reach the point where I get suffocated and burst myself into silence. When silence can’t escape me, I would have to excuse myself to leave the conversation and let my eyes pour their rain. Sometimes, rage, which is the opposite of silence, could happen when I am being pushed with too many ‘why’, and I never like the version of me whenever I am on rage.

I am one of those who choose to let people be the way they want to, do anything they want to. To some, my choice not to get involve is being considered as an ignorant, while I take it as ‘trying my best to understand the diversity, that each person is different’. Perhaps having able to grow up in an environment which require tolerance in every aspect of life has made me become a flexible person. Although I had couple of people told me that it is in my element too, that I was born as a Pisces which said to have the ability to understand, to not judged easily, to tolerate, but not many people believe in sign/zodiac, so I would rather choose the environment I was grown up at to be the key of my understanding trait.

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t mean to say that I don’t get interest in others. But I avoid being aggressive. And because of this, I am being considered as a passive person, someone who won’t initiate and who follows the flow.

Perhaps it’s true. As I choose not to be aggressive, so of course I am being put into the box that has a label ‘passive‘. It is a common sense.

I was questioned once of why would I prefer to be labeled as one, I remember I said I didn’t choose the label passive  it’s other(s) who have labeled me. And it’s true, I don’t put myself into any label nor box, this is just the way I prefer. I don’t like to put others into situation where they would feel awkward from my ‘why’ questions. I don’t like to make them think that their choices are wrong, and worst I don’t want them to feel as if they are a mistake.

It might sound lovely that I prefer to listen and to understand others more, but undeniable, it has put me into dilemma, of whether I shall continue my preference, or be a little bit more aggressive, as it is a necessary trait too. The stimulation that I get from the question ‘why’ doesn’t help the dilemma either, as this particular word does ignite my brain to think of smart(est) explanation that I could give. But then I would put myself into the situation of how unpleasant it is to have ourselves to explain every single step that we take, every single action that we do, every single thing that we prefer to do; how exhausting it is to explain what we would want to become; how unfair it is to explain our existence.






How Could I Forget You



“The heart aches,
but it brings me closer to you,
as you are the one who have caused it.

They say love would heal,
but love makes me feel closest to you,
tell me sweetheart,
how could I forget you?

Inside this chamber of mine,
I have seen some cracks,
for the light to come inside,
to beat darkness…
and light, reminds me of you.
Tell me, sweetheart…
how could I forget you?

You have departed,
but you may as well, the arrival of my ink.
Tell me, sweetheart…
how could I forget you?”


– One of the poems on my debut poetry book, “Words of Sunset”.



“I am missing my hope and my faith,
I would like to call them,
but unfortunately,
I have forgotten their numbers.

I used to have them in my life directory,
they were the guidance of my life.
But I’ve lost them now,
I couldn’t seem to find them.

I wish for my hope and my faith to have social media,
for I could follow them wherever they go.
it is the fear that I’ve been following.

I’ve become my fear’s number one fan,
its account on social media, is the only one that I don’t miss to check.
I seem to follow my fear wherever it goes.
Its number stuck in my head, in my heart,
in me.
I can’t remember how did I get my its number.

I would wake up everyday,
and promise myself to follow my heart, to do what I love to do,
but suddenly…
that fear of mine, sends me message to my inbox,
and it continues sending me video,
and finally,
we would end up chatting.
I read, I watch, I listen, and I talk to my fear.

Would you mind to tell me,
if you have hope and faith in your social media?
Could you please tag me,
for me to be able to add them.
I would want to talk to them,
have them back in my life.

But sadly,
fear would see on its timeline when you would tag me hope and faith.
I know fear would get jealous,
and it would stalk them,
until finally they would runaway from me,
and block me instead.

I should have got rid fear,
I know I should,
I just don’t know how to do so.
For it lives beneath my skin.

Fear is the first thought that crosses my mind,
every time I want to achieve something.
Sometimes fear of having bad day,
fear of having same routine,
fear of becoming a failure.

Fear of so many things.

But do you know what,
I think I already am, a failure.
For letting fear become me,
rather than letting me,
be my own self.”


  • Originally this poem was written few years ago and I performed it at Yearly Poetry event which called ‘The Colors of Life’, in 2016 at Adliya, Bahrain.


Never Too Late


It’s never too late,
to fall in love again.

To let our lips draw a sunshine smile,
the moment our name is being whispered by another’s.

To let butterflies fly freely with endless excitement within,
the moment our eyes read spilled ink that is written on our screen.

To let the stars in our eyes blink brightly,
the moment our heart is hugged by another’s.

It’s never too late,
to fall in love,
to love,
and to be loved,
… again.

As I am preparing myself to let you go,
I couldn’t help ‘but to wonder,

would it be too late,
for our souls,
to fall in love with each other,
ever again?

Would it be too late,
to be loved by you,

Would it be too late,
to love you, … all over again?

As I bid farewell to the cresent tonight,
I whisper you in my prayer, ‘It’s never too late,
to come back to me, my love.
It’s never too late.’ ”



Nothing Is Really Gone


17th February 2017, under flowing tears of the Desert Island sky, I write.

Nothing is really gone,
nobody is actually vanish,
as memory of them lingers…

The scent of them is around us,
all the time.
They have become the air that we breathe.

Everywhere we go,
the scent caughts our mind,
and we let our heart to inhale it,

Until our soul forces us to let it go.

To let go the pain,
to let go the sadness.

Until we finally would smile again,
until we could breathe again.

we would breathe the same scent,
all over again.

Until everything ends,
until our life ends.”



How many of us search the meaning of love from Google? At some point in our life, we do search it, don’t we? Silently perhaps, as we don’t want to look as if we are dumb for not knowing what love is. 

It’s like, ‘C’mon, you don’t know what love is? Have you ever fell in love? Have you ever cared deeply over someone?’, and so many other endless questions.

Perhaps that is the reason we are not too sure the meaning of love because there are too many definitions of it, and we would always feel that one definition wouldn’t fit well enough.

Some of us would spend their entire life to find the real meaning of love. I am not going to do the same as I have written about it on my debut poetry book. I specially dedicated one page to write what is love to me.

At the end of writing the poem, I have found my answer, and that is love is poetry.

– L –