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By Zaheda Ghani
July-Sept. 1998
Lemar-Aftaab
With my fist full of naiveté, I didn't notice you
standing on my happiness. Silent, behind green
young hedges. Stick in hand, waiting to strike at
my childhood with your weapon of jealousy.
I approach you, curios to know of your life. Soon the bees
swarm
around me, as you disappear into memory. I feel the
stings all over,
deep into who I became.
Touch my dream,
So you can flavor my memories with
Your presence,
Lying asleep in my thoughts
You toss and turn
Begging to be released,
-into my night and beyond.
Dry skin
Of old man hands,
Large fingernails,
Well kept.
Down in the maze fields,
Where the impatient wind
Blew him into his autumn,
Hidden where no mouth could
Taste them,
Red berries
Of sour sweet juices.
Is that my white bed spread? Stained crimson with your blood? Yes.
Mark this day, as they struggled to pull him up the stairs. Someone
stop the blood. It is a fountain of pain, not enough strength in two
women to carry this living corpse up to his room, two women and a little
girl, scared as she could help not. She stands at the bottom of the narrow
stair case, as they carry his convulsing body wrapped in wet sheets.
"call the doctor"
"they killed the doctor"
"call his father"
"they took his father"
"dear lord why today"
Hot bullets through his abdomen left a story to
be told. A story she told. Holding the child for it
would not cease crying. Her words upon the air,
softly spoken, wove narratives of fantastic splendor.
Like a hologram her shadow speaks,
To me from the past.
In defense of my ignorance
I dig to disclose her face,
Lying buried, unconcerned,
She stares at me from an assembly of black
And white dots.
"what is your name?"
"all I know is your my grandmother"
Engrossed in her glossy
paper pressence,
i pay homage to the blink of her lashes,
now closed to sunlight.
The blood rays of the sun;
Kiss the cloud of the
Dusk sky,
It's a sad farewell, till
Dawn arrives,
And spreads herself
Over your grave.
I hold out the palm
Of my hand
Through the thin skin,
There begins to
Emerge a silent
Rose.
It breaks free of their
Eyes,
Away from the lines
Of fate,
A red rose protruding...
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Copyright © 1998 Aftaabzad Publications. All Rights Reserved.
May not be duplicated or distributed in any form without permission.
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