4 poems by Anjum Wasim Dar

Anjum Wasir Dar

When the Only Son leaves home for studies abroad.

Everlasting Bonds, by Birth

I never felt the distance before,
Nor sensed the silence in the room,
I never missed the familiar footstep
Nor the clutching click of the door;
Now often I think I hear
The soft burr of your bike
Rolling, whirring in the lane
The lifting flick of the gate way latch
And the “tick tick” on the window pane;
At times I see you on the prayer mat
Or in your writing chair;
Where you would sit for hours on end
To read and write and note and plan,
And from time to time
Would turn around, to exchange
A friendly chat;
And now I know why God made sons
Why faith and peace is strong,
When love is true and distances long,
No absence can ever break the bond;
And now I know
How one so close, can be so far away,
No one can show, no one can wait
To stop and pat and wipe your tears away;
My son my dear, in distant land
You are with me, each day
As when I first held your hand
You first opened your eyes,
And tried to say, “Aye”
Time moved on and time moves on
Time is just fair
My son My dear, in another land,
You are not here ….
You left the footsteps in the sand;
I know, I wake up with a start,
You are forever in my heart;
Your helmet heavy in your hand,
I see you, standing there.

Famished Femininity

Lift the latch and
you will find cracks
in the door, scarred
traces of hot tempered

sad sorrowful echoes of
screams, slaps and strikes,
in the tender dwellings of
famished femininity-

whose chest is crammed
with refrains of ugly curses
profane, drafted with hatred

beauty’s blend for care
created for eternal company
stays abused spared not

who will cut the strings
of human bondage
lacerant tortured
Suffering Silent Cry!

What was ancient
ignorant and abolished
made eloquent and sacred

Open the door and you will find
famished femininity current
in countless fetters

slowly visibly tabescent-


Reflections on the Birth of a Female Child

Nature’s womb, a home, a life, a love
emerging in pain, washed covered,
put away unaware, who held -
so warmly at first,
fed  so fully at first
hugged so tightly at first

 born, a new born
unsafe, insecure, exposed
know not how many saw,
caressed -more responsibility said
a heavy voice- same body, same blood
but not the same-
not the same - 
not the same- vision.....

pain...still there
abuse ...everywhere
rape...in gangs

Thoughts of a Woman, on Women’s Day

created sacred beguiled abused
ordered bound accused excused
what woman's day means to her
she thought-
what nights will make her scream
Day is work no escape
Night , Love? No,  Rape-
fears and fears of rape,
drugged missing real or fake?

should she think of women famous?
those who are seen on history pages?

should she think of those unseen,
pushed kicked thrown in cages?

 mothers and daughters in frustration
yet manage homes and serve nations

should she honor the saintly ones
who were obedient ordained 
should she mention those half
widows, widows of genocide
chained enslaved in perpetual pain?

or those maids forced to labour
or those who hold kids while 
parents dine and perhaps wine'
whom should she call 'mine'
standing serving morn till nine-

and there are families royal
to the people crown so loyal
loved honored seen by all
that is not all.....

so many names graceful glorified
history remembers all sacrificed
she thought...cannot pick one or two
one in white covered one in blue-
East or West old or new...Oh

Athena! Wise One Help, if only I knew-

Return to Journal

Anjum Wasim Dar, migrant Pakistani of Kashmiri origin, Masters in English Literature & American Studies, Masters in History, (Elective Indo Pak History of the Sub Continent) Punjab University, awarded a scholarship for distinction in English Language, holds a  Post Graduate Diploma in TEFL, and Certificate of Proficiency in English from Cambridge University UK. An International Award Winner Poet of Merit, Bronze Medal, ISP USA-2000, Short Story Writer, Author of a Novel for Young Adults, “The Adventures of the Multi Colored Lead People” (Unpublished) Former Head of English Department at Pakistan Air Force AIR University Islamabad.
Digital Artist with Focus on Ekphrastic Poetry. 
Poetry Blog : http://poeticoceans.wordpress.com
Short Story Blog : http://storiesmiracles.wordpress.com

WordCity Literary Journal is provided free to readers from all around the world, and there is no cost to writers submitting their work. Substantial time and expertise goes into each issue, and if you would like to contribute to those efforts, and the costs associated with maintaining this site, we thank you for your support.


Make a one-time donation

Make a monthly donation

Make a yearly donation

Choose an amount


Or enter a custom amount


Your contribution is appreciated.

Your contribution is appreciated.

Your contribution is appreciated.

DonateDonate monthlyDonate yearly

Published by darcie friesen hossack

Darcie Friesen Hossack is a graduate of the Humber School for Writers. Her short story collection, Mennonites Don’t Dance, was a runner-up for the Danuta Gleed Award, shortlisted for the Commonwealth Writers Prize and the Ontario Library Association's Forest of Reading Evergreen Award for Adult Fiction. Citing irreverence, the book was banned by the LaCrete Public Library in Northern Alberta. Having mentored with Giller finalists Sandra Birdsell (The Russlander) and Gail Anderson Dargatz (Spawning Grounds, The Cure for Death by Lightening), Darcie's first novel, Stillwater, will be released in the spring of 2023. Darcie is also a four time judge of the Whistler Independent Book Awards, and a career food writer. She lives in Northern Alberta, Canada, with her husband, international award-winning chef, Dean Hossack.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: