The artwork by Adeela Khan is a sketch of hands - open or closed, formed into fists or turned palm up. Bright green, pink, blue, orange and yellow daubs of color are behind the hands, mostly in the top part of the work.

Issue Two

The photo by Aamna Waseem is of a variety of autumn leaves submerged in water, in colors of yellow, brown, maroon and rust.

Essay | After Winter
By Samee Ahmad

He wore all white in those days. Cream, beige, off-white. Sometimes he wore a kameez for so long that the winter dust settled and transformed a crisp ivory to a sullen beige.

The artwork by Izza Ali Khan has a dark blue background, and a black, spidery net in the foreground.

Fiction | سبھا
By Rabindranath Tagore, translated by Nuzhat Nisar

اُس کی دو بڑی بہنوں کا نام سکیشنی اور سہاسنی تھا، غالباً ان کے ابا نے بس یہ سوچ کر کہ تینوں بہنوں کے نام ملتے جلتے ہوں، اس کا نام سبھاشنی رکھ دیا تھا۔ پیار سے سب اسے ’سبھا‘ بلاتے تھے۔

Poetry | Partition
By Hasan Mujtaba, translated by Haider Shahbaz

And in my village, the moon
The people dear to me
Like the moon

—but sometimes in my limbs i feel this shape wanting expression filling my tongue with restlessness, my body with praise, my mouth with devotion

This is the book cover of the novel Four Dervishes by Hammad Rind. The cover shows an old TV on a floor. Above it are the words Hammad Rind and above that are the words Four Dervishes.

Interview | داستان گوئی : A Conversation with Hammad Rind
By Bareerah Y. Ghani

The novelist and translator talks to Bareerah Ghani about languages, Amir Khusro, and "Fereydoonism".

The artwork by Aamna Waseem is of the bottom of a heart sketched in black ink with what appear to be hands on either side of it, falling touching blue-and-white water, fat droplets of which are jumping up.

Fiction | فیصلہ
By Syed Hur Abbas

اس کا چہرہ غصے کے باعث لال ہو چکا تھا۔ اس نے دائیں ہاتھ کی مٹھی کو زور سے بند کر لیا اور مسلسل مٹھی پر زور دیتا رہا، جیسے وہ اپنے غصہ کو قابو کرنے کی کوشش کر رہا ہو۔

Fiction

Unrest
by Zuneera Shah

The Walls
by Sabyn Javeri

Essays

The Money Plant
by Tabinda Khurshid

The Road to Closure
by Roha Arif

Poetry

Origin Story
by Javeria Hasnain

Mid Life Crisis
by Aneeqa Wattoo

News

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Join us for a prose-and-poetry virtual evening

More details coming soon. Follow rawanee.creatives and lakeermag on Instagram for updates.

Internship applications are currently closed

We will post here about any upcoming opportunities.
Internships at Lakeer give you the chance to work alongside an editor for fiction, essays, or poetry.
As an intern, you will be responsible for reading, compiling and editing submissions as per the editor's guidelines. You will also get the opportunity to submit one of your pieces for Lakeer, and potentially work one-on-one with an editor on it.
Internships are remote, volunteer positions.

From the archive

The photo is of raindrops on a car windshield on a rainy night. Through the blur of the rain water streetlights can be seen.

Essay | The Road to Closure
By Roha Arif


I remember my attention zeroing in on my thumbs and feeling relief. I loved that they were more square than round on the edge, and my siblings usually teased me about that, but in that moment I remember loving how God had shaped my thumbs. They looked exactly like Mama’s.

The artwork by Aamna Waseem shows a girl sitting with her bare knees drawn up to her chin, bare arms encircling them, bare feet visible beneath, her dark hair falling over her shoulders, her eyes closed, in a square filled with pale red color, around which is a pen-sketch frame in black ink.

Fiction | Open Them
By Saadat Hasan Manto, translated by Asna Nusrat

The camp was in an uproar but it was as if old Sirajuddin had gone deaf. He couldn’t hear anything. If someone saw him, they would think he was deep in thought but he wasn’t. He was barely aware, of anything. His entire being suspended in space. He stared at the soiled sky, the sun piercing his gaze.

Poetry | Two Sunsets on a Sunday
By Ahmad Aamir Malik

Lahore
لاہور
Lahore

After an hour of rain,
the pink sunset slants through the trees
onto the canal-

...alone in the silence
to the door of spirits
shivering souls,
vacant.

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