Exams amid traumas

satan knows
how every night
i battle with
tornadoes of my life.
how every night
i row across
these gigantic waves.
hell! i sank twice,
thrice and many more..
shark knows
the taste of my blood,
and the cold waves
in her attempt to
heal wounds –
almost killed me.

satan knows
how i struggle
to sow seeds,
and only he knows
how little I’ve,
to harvest for
tomorrow’s exam..

satan, exams are
no longer about
winning and losing
but writing, just writing….

when traumas
lash mist over
the windows of visions,
exams are not about
winning and losing
but writing, just writing…

(and dear kids
who write exams
amid traumas,
isn’t just writing
a kind of victory?? )

hail them, world.
hail them…

© Sanna Wren

( image taken from Pinterest. Credit goes to the respective artist )

Two choices

pink or red?
and i chose pink.

and i am lying on the bed
with a mind of swirling storm,
thinking of all other colours
i am not fortunate to have.

since my birth,
i have only two choices,
few choices,
and ugly concertina wires,
my border!

and if i am talking
about my favourite
sea green or sky blue,
they’ll cast their scary –
eyes on me to yell,

“never open that window, girl.
never… ever… open…”

© Sanna Wren

(image taken from Google)

My dear friend

this world is a hell,
a sliegh of Satan,
full of poor clowns,
acting in the daylight,
crying and dying
when the night falls.

last night
i read your silence,
and gaps between words,
sentences and paragraphs.
it’s hard to be happy
for it’s easily robbed.

but my dear friend,
you’re a mysterious art,
my favourite muse,
and a heavenly heart
trapped amid these
earthly chaos and blues.

but i am always by your side,
and what’s more beautiful
than being there for eachother?

( To my dearest friend Aiman Mattoo. I wish you to have the happiest birthday ever, Sis and May all your wishes come true ✨)

© Sanna Wren

(Artwork by Aiman Mattoo 💖)

The World goes back

(What is more beautiful than meeting someone like you?)

All of a sudden, the world goes back. I am sitting beside you, and we are looking at the stars from the shining meadow. The cold breeze sweeps us with the fragrance of moonflower, jasmine, poppies and roses. Our warm eyes, awestruck by the miraculous sky. We vivaciously spot Orion, Ursa Major and Pegasus out of stars. Deep inside, we feel supernova and nebula, the birth of thousand splendid stars of love.


I remember the letters you wrote for me. You write in poems of Bukowski, Edger Allan Poe, Wordsworth and Coleridge … I was startled at the letter, wondered who could send a letter to this lonely girl. You told me you’re a young poet, struggling to live. You love art, and cherish all the little things that put a smile on one’s face. And I fell in love with your favorite poets. Each poem you sent me unveiled a new layer of meaning. In one of the letters, you wrote me the lines of your favorite Bukowski, it was..

“I loved you
like a man loves a woman he never touches, only
writes to, keeps little photographs of”

With love,
Met eor.

I was startled. For the first time in years, I felt the dews in my heart. How lovely! For the first time in years, I felt the sky, the sea, the stars..That’s love! You unveiled all your layers, and you told me you’re a lonely person, struggling to live, and you’re in need of a great love. And you attached Edgar Allen Poe’s poem along with your grieving poem,

From childhood’s hour I have not been
As others were—I have not seen
As others saw—I could not bring
My passions from a common spring
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow—I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone—
And all I lov’d—I lov’d alone—

And I told you I felt the same pain. I told you about my lost love and pale life. And I wrote you back the poem of Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Laugh, and the world laughs with you;
Weep, and you weep alone;
For the sad old earth must borrow its mirth,
But has trouble enough of its own.
Sing, and the hills will answer;
Sigh, it is lost on the air;
The echoes bound to a joyful sound,
But shrink from voicing care

I wrote poems about you, and I sent you my paintings of a hundred starry skies. We dived into the colours of universe, and we found our universe, protruding with colours and words, and each peice of art sparkling into soothing and aching metaphors. And we decided to meet on an evening, the sun was setting, and the sea was overflowing with ecstasy, welcoming lovers to the world of infinity.

“It’s like I’ve met you before,
a million years ago, my lady”, Meteor said. And I blushed.

Meteor looked at my eyes, and he casted his deep eyes into the deep sea for a long time.…

our love it was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than we—
Of many far wiser than we—
And neither the angels in Heaven above
Nor the demons down under the sea
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;”,

he recited the poem of his favourite Edgar Allan Poe. The rhythm of my heart echoed with overwhelming love. We looked at eachother, and held eachother for awhile and smiled… I couldn’t find words to break the ice, the atmosphere was thick with full of love… Wind swirling to bind us. Sky, full of artworks, turning into a great masterpiece. It looked like the entire universe was in ecstasy.

“Your poems and paintings are great, young lady”, Meteor said.

“Thank you”, I said.

“You know, you inspired me to paint. I wanna paint this sea.. for you, even though my hands are not good.”

“That’s great”, my heart was pounding with too much love.

Meteor sat down to paint. He casted his deep eyes into the deep sea and into my wet eyes.. He splashed the colours on the canvas, and I watched as he painted with love for me.

” Great! You’re an artist!”

No, I am not, my young lady!

“But you’re artistic!”

He blushed, and I wrapped his painting with my collar scarf, “Thank you so much, Met”

“You’re always welcome.”


We lay down on the tinsel-like grass to feel the earth beneath us. Meteor hold my hand, and I turn to his side and look at his miraculous eyes, another universe.

“Do you want me to recite poems?”, He asks with a soothing smile.

“What are your dreams, Met?”

“Dreams? You’re my dream.”

I blush, and we look at the Orion, Ursa Major and Pegasus, protruding in the sky for us..

“To live in a house, mostly wood, you and I, books floating here and there, yellow lanterns at night, twinkling stars stickers adhering to ceiling, candle light dinner, soft music, praying together. To watch you paint and having it on walls. To see you looking at me when I write. To be silent with you, beautiful uncomfortable silence in which we lose ourselves in our own Nebula. To grow old with you, watching the world growing stranger but we growing old to the point we become one. Only one. No me. No you. Just us when we die. Only to wake up to see the God. To love in the heaven.”, Meteor says and cries. He looks away for awhile to wipe his eyes.

My eyes are wet, and I try to find words from the depth of my heart to stream in love, for him. “I wish it’d happen….. I’m sure. We can be the happiest universe.. only if we’re together…. you know, my life has been hard…….”

“But believe me, my young lady, I saw you in my dream last night.. A very dark green forest full of fog. It was thick with all attributes of Amazon. But in the middle there stood a snow peak. It was so high. Just so high that from the top of it, the forest would appear to you like algae on some rock, and it was so cold. I was seeing things with bird’s view, and I saw you running through the forest, towards the snow summit, climbing and you reached on the top, and you just jumped from there. You said you’re independent and free now. That’s what you wanted and you just disappeared into the mist. … I literally felt the fog when I woke up…”

“This dream is so deep.” I feel whole my heart.

“You’ll be fine”

” You too will be fine” my eyes are exhausted with too much emotions.

“It looks like you’re sleepy!”


” Let’s sleep”, he wraps me up. And I close my eyes to the rhythme of his heart….


The scalding sun shines on my face, and I spring up. I’m on bed, more like a royal bed. “Where is Meteor?”

“Where am I, God?”


I run away. It’s a different world, with a different set of faces, hastily moving here and there, quarrels all around, poets are weird….it’s 2021. Where is my Meteor?

The wind sweeps me with the smell of floating smoke. And Deep down, a voice echoes, some ending lines from the Bukowski’s poem

if I had met you
I would probably have been unfair to you or you
to me. it was best like this

© Sanna Wren

( the poems included in this story – “An almost made up poem” by Charles Bukowski, ” Alone and Annabelle Lee” by Edgar Allan Poe and “Solitude” by Ella Wheeler Wilcox.)

( the image is taken from NASA’s page on Pinterest)


i am my flaws
i am neither my poems
nor my paintings.
i am neither my grade
nor my career.

i am my flaws.
i am neither the books
i read nor the songs i listen.
i am neither the thoughts
i think nor the love i give.

i am my flaws.
i am what i lack,
not what i have.

if you’re to argue,
i must tell you,
i am my flaws and
faults, at least
they’re my first identity.

© Sanna

(image is taken from Pinterest. Credit goes to the respective artist.)

Tomorrow never comes

it’s been a million years
since the lid has fallen,
and the piled things are
now mountains,
like gigantic walls,
blocking the merry sun,
and there’s no breeze
from the green sea.
I lost the vision
of my lovely courtyard
of roses and chirping birds.

I always linger on bed
like a corpse, and let
the dust fade me.
my clothes are wrapped
by cobwebs, my school-
books are scattered
amid the torn pages
of poetry…..

and whenever the rain
lashes, I cry and cry,
tomorrow I’ll pray.
and whenever the wind
swirls, I cry and cry,
tomorrow I’ll be good..

but the tomorrow
never comes…

© Sanna Wren

Image is taken from Pinterest.

Exquisite Darkness

i am in love with this darkness and dim windows, dim by the faraway streetlight. the darkest corner of my room and this occasional silence. and the unclear rollercoasting sounds of neighbours, crying crickets and screeching vehicles.

i am in love with this darkness and dim windows. it’s so bewitching when it rains on a stark night. i simply admire the freedom of sky to drizzle and hurricane, and its power to surpass this world’s noise.

i am in love with this darkness and dim windows. the darkest corner of my room, and the way it hides my shade and shape, and whole my existence. oh, how i wish I could disappear into this exquisite darkness!

© Sanna Wren

You’re okay

like waves, pain rushes
from my heart to limbs,
and i shiver in the horrible
blizzard spiraling around.

i curl up on bed
to battle for breath,
and i kiss my knees
and snivel with
quavering whispers,

you are okay, girl.
you are okay.

© Sanna Wren

(Image is taken from Pinterest)

A kashmiri boy

there’s a kashmiri boy
in the meadow,
kissing ferns and
flowers and walking down
amid the rocks
with his bare feet
to the melancholic
Drung of Tangmarg.

and knitting words
with his bleeding hands,
of scalding tales
of kashmiris in kashmir
and looking at the bloody
cimmerian shades of sky
closing its lid –
for a desolate one.

he harbours his heart
on pure love, he simply
admires swamps
and kisses ferns,
tickles cats and dogs
and has even filled
a sick eagle with love
and a sky full of dreams.

Sanna Wren

( Poem about Tabish Rafiq Mir )

Fantasies and love

when you close your eyes
to go away with him,
to faraway lands,
up on the hills and mist
and sky full of clouds,
to make him kiss you
on your cheeks,
and down your lips.

when you close your eyes
to go away with him,
to faraway lands,
on the meadows,
under the sky full of
stars and the moon,
to make him recite you
poems after poem.

when you close your eyes
to go away with him,
to faraway lands,
to dance in the rain,
and to lay in a bed
under the same blanket,
to sing a song of love
with a look of ecstasy.

you’re loving someone
who does not exist.

© Sanna Wren

Painting by Lorraine Christie (b. 1967, Belfast). Taken from Pinterest