by Simra Sadaf
You got down on an
empty railway station,
it was on a cold winter noon,
the streets bustling with men,
you saw an angry milkman,
some shops, yelling vendors,
a newspaper delivery boy,
a passed out drunkard,
and an abandoned bookstore,
I met you there,
in the classic poets aisle,
I sensed Rossetti’s Echo
hugging every bone in my body,
a rush of coming undone,
a feeling of becoming a tragedy,
of being incomplete,
like life without stories,
or a town without a name,
the town where I met you,
a place full of daydreamers,
wanting to disappear.
Hand in hand,
we explored this town,
a schoolyard full of kids,
a place where temples and
mosques are more than schools,
priests and monks in abundance,
but lacking in doctors and lawyers,
there is a park about the
size of a swimming pool,
we sat on a bench, the only one,
watching pigeons,
black headed mynahs,
soft winds skimmed our faces,
whispering poems,
smelling like tobacco
and rotten bananas,
I felt a sudden tinge of joy,
cold nosed and hands half frozen,
your tender fingers touching
the hollow of my neck,
like petals of gentleness,
the fog covered us entirely as
the day melted into night in
the town where I met you,
the town where I loved you.
The sky resembled my being,
clouds scattered everywhere,
craving for warmth,
the kind that can be found
only in the sun’s lap,
or yours,
we were still sitting,
but it felt like we were
taking a walk in the woods,
afraid of getting lost,
or that I would lose you
to the wolves,
and a hurried unceasing
vexation filled me up,
to lose all of me in you,
but in the policed town
that I call home,
where blasphemy is devoured
by hungry raw mouths,
where women are slapped,
and men are stripped,
I felt the moon fading,
and as morning arrived
in my birthplace,
the taste of your wounds
still fresh in my tongue,
I have since been waiting
for a Satan to swallow those
famished beasts,
or for a God to wake up in
this town where I met you,
the town that buried you.
Simra Sadaf has finished her Masters in English Literature from University Of Madras. She writes short stories and poems for magazines. She pursued her bachelors in Sociology and has an abundant knowledge about the workings of a society which she incorporates in most of her writings. She reads books of all genres and likes to review them on Goodreads and other social media platforms. She loves the art of storytelling and someday hopes to write something that will leave a lasting impact on the readers. Literature drives her spirit and words churn her soul.
Hyades Magazine 