A Winter Sunset’s Strokes | Saima Ahad

A Winter Sunset’s Strokes | Saima Ahad

Sunset is over here. 

Another day is pushing up daisies. 

I have lost battles, countless on fingers, 

Still I dangle on loops of my raged breaths. 

When swollen agony hovered upon; my eyes were painted in salty hues, 

I smiled as wide as the ocean, for the swollen agony to smoothen. 

Dove’s quills don’t run through my drenched window; anymore. 

So I dance now in my petite backyard; with bustling butterflies, leisurely. 

I step out;  the street is no longer jammed with horns and bickerings, ripping peace,

I gaze vacantly, relishing the rose gold dust daubed on bleached grey way. 

The doorbell at my entrance has ringed since days; there’s nobody to wait for,

Perhaps, all are draped in furry blankets, near flames of the fireplace. 

The town shuts off so soon; the night wants to sleep too, 

For the next twilight shall be infused with unheard gusts of the same old wind. 

The aged frame rests above my silken lampshade; a little me between my lovebirds

They are arriving with Santa to leave me a final letter, 

Under the Christmas pine soaring high like thousands of huddled galaxies;

Perhaps writing to me why they had gone, untimely. 

Parwanas; in love with saffron and chestnut shafts, flashing on muffled walls, 

They lose themselves; to illuminate those slumbering, lifeless. 

The sunset is halting;

Its closing words were for the night, yet to enter. 

In just winks and blinks;

A lot was gone before this winter.

Laughters, people, places, seasons; 

I marvelled, whether I shall unite with them, 

Maybe beneath the same vista, in an alien meadow. 

For they called world to be a circle;

And we shall be meeting again and again. 

I live the present in hopes to feel past in it,

For one last time;

The last time stretches to infinity. 

 Deep into the red of my heart, 

I know;

I know well that once a flower wilts, 

It is meant to never return. 

My lovebirds watch me from their home, in heaven. 

Rings of the doorbell will be no longer known. 

This winter shall be a bygone, prior to us greeting it. 

Yet this mysterious walk will sustain. 

For our tunnels, are bit far from seeing the sun

So keep walking, 

There shall be light,

Soon

Under our feet, above our heads. 


Written by Saima Ahad

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