Writer
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.
She asked me, “What is life?”
So, I sketched her.
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.
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.
Small hurried steps,
The girls stepped out of the cottage..
Holding mugs filled with hot chocolate.
They sat atop the hill,
Looking up at the starry sky
With a blanket over their shoulders.
They looked into each other’s eyes and giggled
and shared their first kiss
Ever.
Day 95
In the midst of commotion..
She faded into oblivion.
The incessant squabbles went on..
As she rode away on her pink unicorn.
Day 94
There was sickness in the air.
Clouded mind,
teary eyes,
runny nose.
Sniffing hard,
I let out a deep sigh.
Snuggled into the sheets
and went back to sleep.
“And, there goes my weekend!”
Day 92
A friend spews poison.
A loved one shows hostility.
Another blocks me.
Someone ignores me.
And you roll your eyes at me.
Why the cold heartedness?
Why so unkind and bitter?
I often try to understand humans..
No matter the love and care,
It never seems to be enough.
Nuraine Sadaf 