Biography of Fariha Hossain
My name is Fariha, and I fluctuate like the lights during a blizzard.
I could refer to myself as a cynic, but the optimist in me is a weary fool who clings to serendipity and prayers like mantras for eternal sunshine.
The tightened grip on my ballpoint pen imprints itself on the calloused palms of my hand, depicting a matrimony a wedding ring can not possibly fathom.
Poetry is collectively my fiercest passion and the metaphorical equivalent of the eyes I have gazed at, and the hearts I am smitten with.
Talk to me if you’d like. I’d enjoy the company.
Fariha Hossain Poems
Block 1: I'm nestled soundly against my mother's womb, And i listen to my father's cooing voice while he has his fingers crossed for a girl.
Thunder Still Keeps Me Up At Night.
I never 'fair weather' loved you. Your sunshines warmed my face just as jubilantly as they warmed yours. Your cool winds provided
Orthodontics And Phraseology
You could never be in a Colgate commercial. You smiled with your mouth shut. but me? I wear my open-mouthed grin
To The Guy Who Has The Same Name As The ...
Your name is as familiar as the creases on my hands, framed on a face so foreign. Lips unlike his. Eyes darker than his.
He Loved In Cliffhangers.
I was the last item crossed off your grocery list. There I was, next to potatoes
Ebony rimmed glasses always clouded my view. Perched on the bridge of my nose and snuggled in the niche
I could tell you that the amber sunset Is enough for my eyes to pry themselves awake Every morning, Could tell you that the saccharine coos of birds stretching their wings
To My January Daydream
My mother used to whisper my father's dreams into my palms at night So I'd always have a piece of him to hold when her hands weren't enough. Home was her perfume, the lingering scent of cilantro clinging to her clothes, Her sleepy embrace after every nightmare, and her regal saris coiled around her like
Lessons From My Bird
The first time I realized my pet bird did not have arms, my own arms seemed to tingle with apology. After all, how convenient could soaring home be if you could not wrap your weary arms
Ebony rimmed glasses
always clouded my view.
Perched on the bridge of my nose
and snuggled in the niche
behind my ears,
they are the crutches that assist my weary eyes.
They are the transformers
that morph emerald shapes
into towering trees,