Borrowed Tomorrows

By Rufaida Manzoor

I was hoping one day to find a home,

A place where dreams and love could roam.

A gift we all so deeply crave,

A future wrapped, a life to save.

My ambitions grew beyond the skies,

They tore my flesh, they dimmed my eyes.

I thought life wasn’t meant to demand,

Yet I sank like footsteps in the sand.

I reached for fruits beyond my hand,

Forgetting gifts both small and grand.

My eyes grew weary, my spirit numb,

My heart beat faint, my voice grew dumb.

I saw the faces, burned and worn,

Silent cries, their hopes all torn.

And so I learned what life became,

A test, a fire, a fleeting flame.

The sadness whispers, “Wait, just borrow—

I’ll be better come tomorrow.”

Yet I know that time is slow to save,

I built no home, just dug a grave.

Hope still flickers, though faint, though small, 

A fragile light that defies the fall. 

Perhaps one day the wounds will mend, 

And broken paths may find their end.

By Rufaida Manzoor