Voices murmur, in delirium:

'Too easy it to fall in love
Every now and then,
Every now and then'

They grow harsher:

'Too difficult to hold on
To one love, 
You must withdraw'

I start chasing cars on pavements
Hawkers come and cross
Selling newspapers
And at times mottiya-threads.

These are fragments?
I am no Saphho.
All is lost.
What I remember is that strange face
Holding my neck with cold hands
Kissing my face lightly yet strangely
Hands that grew tighter and tighter
Face was drawn closer and closer
Dream choked, died of suffocation,
Dream that is no longer there, 
Not even in bits and pieces. 
It rests in the grave of my memory, 

Ramsha Ashraf is a Pakistani poet who tries not to let any tradition confine her individuality. She has one poetry collection, titled as Enmeshed, published to her credit.