Inked By Literary Club — March 2025 Edition

It’s the time of the year and the first publication of Inked!

Longing A Revival

BY SALMAN IMRAN SYED

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You’re Still in my dreams

Still absolute in my thoughts

Cocooned in the chambers of my heart

Yet you are washed away, far apart

Your acute humming still echoes in my head

How your shadow used to foreshadow the thumping in my chest

The sun will forever remind me of your stunning persona

And during the night I reminisce about your loving aroma

Every dark abyss emphasizes your immensely mesmerising eyes

The mystic aroras used to show that the season of love is on the rise

But ever since the cupids have been dead,

Who mislead us and got us tread

I have been drugged up on remorse forced to harbor a hoarse divorce

How climatically our story concluded to end up like this frantically is to think love has finally condemned me

The Dead Dream

BY SUMAYYA TAHASEEN

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Zoha was a young woman with bright ambitions. she was an undergraduate student pursuing her degree in education at a university in gaza. Every day she walked to her class, filled with

hope for the future, eager to finish her studies and become a teacher one day. She loved to teach students, imagining herself standing in front of a classroom, inspiring young minds, and

teaching the next generation of students.

Zoha always dreamed of becoming a teacher. Education was her passion; she believed it was the key to unlocking opportunities for herself

and others. she spent hours studying, eager to finish her degree, imagining how her future would unfold once she graduated and

how proud her family would be. she dreamed of becoming a beacon

of hope for the children who needed it the most.

One usual day, as zoha was getting ready for her university,

she heard the chaos outside. she peeked from her window, curious to know what was happening. she was stunned to learn that a war had broken out between their country and another. the deafening sounds of explosions shook her campus. it wasn’t just a threat

anymore; it was real. bombs fell, the air filled with smoke and fire. the streets of gaza, once filled with students and the buzz of everyday life, were now unrecognizable.

everyday life, were now unrecognizable. university classes were canceled, and the university was closed indefinitely. as she went down to her family, she saw her little

sister (zara) and brother (karim) hiding under the table while her parents searched for water to cool down the fire that had broken out because of the explosion. she ran to help them, taking her

siblings to a spot far from the fire and finding plenty of water to stop the flames. as they sat with a sigh of relief, soldiers holding

guns were firing down the streets. they were scared and escaped carefully, finding a place where they could be safe for several days.

Zoha tried to hold onto the vision of becoming a teacher. she spent her days helping her younger siblings with their studies, trying to create some semblance of normalcy. but every time she picked up a book, she realized that in her situation, education was no longer a priority. the streets around her were filled with destruction, and the bombs didn’t stop falling. people around her were worried about how to survive; they were just trying to survive.

The sound of sirens became an everyday lullaby. People scattered into shelters, and the streets emptied. The world she had known seemed

to vanish overnight. In those first days of chaos, Zoha’s dream felt so distant, like a life she

had never lived. She would often sit by the window, watching the smoke billow from the horizon, and wonder what could have been. The war stole everything — peace, stability, and, most painfully, her future. Her city was overtaken, its schools turned into makeshift hospitals, its

classrooms transformed into barracks. Children who had once filled the halls with laughter now sat in silence, their eyes hollow from

fear.

Zoha tried to hold onto hope, to find a way back to the dream she once held so tightly, but with every passing day, itslipped further from her reach.

The war had a way of erasing everything. It didn’t just steal lives; it stole dreams. And Zoha’s dream had died slowly, quietly, like a flower wilting without sunlight. She ended up in a camp, just another face among countless others who

had lost their way. She worked as a volunteer, doing what little she could to help the wounded and the displaced. But teaching, the thing she had loved most, was now an impossibility. The children she met were lost, not to the lessons of the classroom, but to the trauma of war. One night, as she sat in a small corner of the camp, Zoha thought about the dream that would never be realized. The thought hit her like a wave — her future had been stolen, not by her own failures, but by something far beyond her control. She had once been full of hope,

full of potential. Now, she felt like nothing. The silence around her was heavy, and the stars above seemed so far away. Zoha closed her eyes, remembering the way she used to imagine her classroom — the rows of desks, the bright faces of children learning and growing. It felt like another life, another person. And in that moment, Zoha realized something. Even though the dream had died, she still had the power to make a difference. Maybe not as a teacher in a classroom, but in other ways. She could teach

kindness to those around her. She could show resilience in the face

The war had taken much from her, but it couldn’t takeher heart. And so, Zoha moved forward, carrying with her the memory of the dream that never came true. The war had changed her, had taken her past life and her future with it. But it hadn’t stolen everything. She would still find ways to teach, in whatever way she could. The dream

might be dead, but her spirit was not. And sometimes, that was enough.the hope inside her was alive and she was ready to change

the future by sharing the knowledge she had to any passerby

MORAL: Even if we cannot control the events that change our paths, we can control how we respond to them and find meaning in new ways.Just need to be strong like zoha. we still have the power to find new ways to make a difference and adapt. While Zoha’s

dream of becoming a teacher was shattered by the war, her ability to keep her spirit alive and find purpose in other forms of service shows that resilience and hope can still guide us through even the darkest times.

HINDI POEM

BY SRITEJA PAKA

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Someone: You always call her princess,

What kind of princess treatment did you give her?

Indradhanush se unhe saadi banaunga,

Taaron se unki zulfe sajaunga,

Chaand ko unke jhumke,

Suraj ko unki bindi banaunga,

Apne haathon se unhe mehendi lagaunga,

Apni aankhon se unki nazar utarunga,

Rasta sajaunga unke aane par,

Phoolon ki barsaat karaunga unke aane par,

Haan, main kuch bhi karunga unke liye.

Par kya karun, unhe toh sajna-sawarna pasand nahi,

Warna main Kohinoor bhi le aata unke liye,

Duniya ko bhi harataa unke liye.

Isliye main apni princess se yeh wada

Karta hoon,

Ki aap bulao mujhe,

Janaaze se bhi uth kar aa jaunga.

Aap pukaro mujhe,

Mitti se bhi uth kar bhaag aaunga.

THE MOON

BY ANN OFELIA ARLAND

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Looking at the moon, I smile. Looking at the sky, I wonder looking at the stars. I keep counting but how far should I go to reach them!?

I need that brightness of moon in love which guides my way, I need that space of love, priority, choice that sky occupies, I need that shine of stars in my eyes when I see him. How far should I love him for all these just for me!?

Will I reach that Moon, Sky and stars soon?

UNMET FRIENDS

BY MARYAM YASMEEN

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Think of this as a letter to the unmet,

If we had what would you have said?

Would you approach me with a smile?

Or would it be discontent?

How would I look for the very first time?

How would you perceive me?

You would look absolutely lovely,

Or would it just be me?

Unmet friends, unspoken conversations,

Unheard screams, unheard laughter.

Will you be an extrovert, introvert or an ambivert?

Will it be fun or a simple time?

I wonder about this everyday

What would life be like, if we had met today?

Unmet friends, unspoken conversations

Unheard screams, unheard laughter.