Writer
The grass is turning pale, the leaves begin to change,
a gradient of green, yellow, and red.
The wind grows chilly, stealing leaves of trees away
Like flowers tossed in the air,
The red and yellow leaves dance above my hair
moving with me, walking beside me,
Swirling, flying, and landing softly by my feet.
Hello October, hello autumn,
it’s a bittersweet joy to meet you again.
A slick wax body,
sometimes thin, sometimes tall,
sometimes scented, round and small,
red, black or white,
in a glass or on a stand,
A candle –
in a thousand forms and shapes,
yet the flame is always the same.
Its purpose: to burn,
a spark brings it to life,
spilling warmth and light,
casting shadows that dance,
Perfuming the air,
Bringing joy to faces,
when placed on a cake.
A candle can also wound,
sear the hand that holds,
or burn down a house to ruins.
Feel sad while —
watching its body surrender,
Drop by drop,
Burning away,
To the silence of the wax.
Are we not the same?
Like candles, living flames.
Choosing how to burn
Entirely up to us..
Will we melt away in pain,
Or shine –
and illuminate the world before we fade?
A curtain of rain,
hangs beyond the window frame,
falling in fine dotted lines,
painting the air a misty white,
turning the concrete slick and black,
the trees afresh, newly rinsed,
leaves shining lacquered green,
with birds hiding deep within.
*I wrote this letter a few months ago after returning from a long vacation. It is now finding its way to my blog, lest it be forgotten.*
*This is a letter I wrote last year, now finding its way to my blog, lest it be forgotten.*
We do not belong to one another,
Love has no possession.
We are not in love,
For love is not a cage.
We are not two halves,
For love makes us whole.
We see one another’s imperfections,
Love is not blind.
Yet my love is your salvation,
And yours is mine,
Instead of open wounds,
We bare silvery scars,
Healed by acceptance and nurture.
This love we share,
It heals us both,
Granting the strength for us to be,
Who we were born to be.
Poem on colors – Pink
In fields where cherry blossoms bloom,
Pink whispers secrets in the afternoon.
A hue of blush, a gentle sigh,
Like cotton candy in the sky.
Roses wear it in their cheeks,
A tender shade that softly speaks.
Of love and warmth, of springtime’s grace,
A color with a gentle face.
From dawn’s first light to sunset’s glow,
Pink paints the world in a tender show.
A kiss of sweetness, pure delight,
A color that makes the heart feel light.
She looked at herself in the mirror,
blew a flying kiss and smiled,
As she would at a lover’s sight.
Nuraine Sadaf 