Rooms Poem by Hanan Muzafar
Rooms
Messed or clean, filled with secrets,
What they hide is unique,
worn out in silence;
phases and echoes,
births and deaths,
Some travellers, some broken;
Dwell, where there is,
agony in defiance,
and a rage unspoken of;
Rooms, talk more than a person does,
Every corner, its own story,
and every wall hiding,
Your nakedness and shame:
If nothing would consume you,
Grief certainly would.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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8/28/2026 7:57:09 PM # rel_20260827T145718Z_a0f1bd3
