Writer
She smiled in the mirror
while braiding her hair
with fair daisies.
She pinned them tightly
then draped on her
Rosy-pink saree like in 1980s.
Her face gleamed with joy
The kohl in her doe-eyes
Was a reason to many broken-hearted cries.
The pink lily talcum perfumed her cheeks
I look at her fondly
as Amma walks past me
like a summer breeze.
With cold hands and a numb mind
I walked to unwind.
Dull red and brilliant blue
Were the colours that came through..
From bars and her shiny eyes.
She glanced at me cold as ice
Then went amiss
Into the shadows of the night.
Like a stray I drifted away
Into the coldness of her familiar sight.
In her eyes,
You see sorrow.
Sure as hell,
You’ll come again tomorrow.
To seek pleasure in her pain.
An attempt, only to go in vain.
Why does this happen every time?
Darkness..
overcast skies..
Are a weakness.
Why do I get drawn towards you?
Why do I get overwhelmed
An unknown fear.
Just one look,
Was all it took..
To seize my attention
To get my heart racing.
The dazzling lights
Made me dreamy,
Taking me back in time
To a world of royalty.
Where the time passed but slow..
All there was to admire
Were magnificent tapestries
Order of aristocracy
Glamour of shiny gems
& sumptuous crystal chandeliers.
There is something
about romanticising
In old forgotten cities
Just two souls
Standing atop broken-down towers
Like conquerors.
She gathered all of her courage
and melted in his arms.
The rhythmic beats of his heart
Were the only melody of her life.
An obsessive writer
Lost in his words.
He saw many..
Long tireless days,
Sleepless nights.
Never stopping.
Lost in his words.
When the time came to stop
He did not understand
What is reality, what is life..
Until he completely lost his mind.
He stood long and alone,
With feet buried in the soft, warm sand.
He looked vacantly ahead at the ocean
Watching the waves rise angrily
Thrashing into each other
falling down,
then flowing away calmly into the ocean again.
He stood long and alone,
Till the sun began to set
turning the sky into red.
He buried his hands into his pockets
and continued staring ahead.
A pile of wood
burnt to the ground.
A fume of smoke
rises from its ash.
Winding slowly,
fading away.
A gust of wind
Blows on the heap of cinder.
It takes to the air
Breezing through the forest
In which it once lived.
Nuraine Sadaf 