Wednesday, August 2, 2017

The Lost Poem















One day I will fly away
from
a sad letter
on a blue paper-
and
watch you from afar
that brow
those trembling lashes

you will look up
squint your eyes
against the dazzle of the sun
and see me there

my yellowed self
my withered self :
stuck on your window pane-

you will push your chair
throw away your pen
and rush to the window-

then gently
very gently
you will
 pick me up from the glass
and place me on your palm-
my yellowed, withered, trembling self.

'Love, my love'
you will whisper...

and
cupped between your palms.
I will slowly
rise from my autumn sleep

the yellow will go
the wither will go
the cold will go.

I will flutter my wings
that were
brittle with time and pain
and dance
a slow waltz

and
breathe again
in your hands.


Photo:Nazia

© Nazia Mallick















Monday, June 5, 2017

Kindled

Last night
You wrote your sonnets
in Braille:
the commas, parenthesis, 
Ellipses...
engraved perfectly
on my skin-
and I 
woke up to find, 
my windows
glowing...




© Nazia Mallick

Sunday, May 8, 2016

Blue Dawn


















dawn brings
in its grubby palms
a handful of dreams
soggy and torn-
a crumpled ball of tissues in my hurting fist.



 © Nazia Mallick

Wednesday, December 2, 2015

Lost



if I hold my breath,
if I become very, very still:
if I stop breathing;
if I just stop breathing...
will I  hear you calling me,
from your distant skies?


© Nazia Mallick  

Photo: Nazia

Tuesday, April 21, 2015

Returning

I need to dream a lot. And heavy doses of silences. Too much talking tires me. Being around too many people suffocates me and I always try to find ways to escape. 
To slip away. Drift on my own. Be silent.

This need to be left alone most of the times is considered a pathological deficiency by my dear family. For others it appears as conceit, perhaps.
Later, much later I realized that I am marked for life. I have to live either with me all my life or change my options, drastically. That I chose the latter was due to the authentic need to be true to my own self, a voluntary choice. This was understood by few and accepted by none.

‘No regrets’ sounds harsh. Almost condescending, but I think I prefer the way things are with me because I know that it is very difficult for another person to live with me, as sometimes it is extremely difficult for me to live with another person. And when such phases happen, I allow some company, some presence, to safely choose to enrich few moments by making connection with another, or maybe just to see how far I can be tolerated by another’s presence. 
I return soon. Back to me. It feels safe.


Thursday, December 18, 2014

Some Sadness is Necessary






Getting up with that familiar feeling. The unnamed, meaningless sadness. Like snowflakes falling inside. And huddled under a thick jacket  I walk on the wet grass, wishing the "purposeful morning walk" would clear the sludge within.
The dry leaves roll at my feet. The chilly breeze sting my face. The few joggers pass by rubbing their hands and blowing upon them, their enthusiasm cutting through the icy cold.

Just then, as I take the curvy pathway to the exit, to go back and crawl into the borrowed warmth of my bed, I see the sun. It is smiling behind the cluster of Laburnum trees. Glowing warmly.
Just for me.
  



Monday, June 23, 2014

Breathing Spell




The brain feels like an over-soaked tea bag. Heavy. All the flavour seeped out. I step outside, on the terrace. The scent of  wet mud is heavy in the breeze. The lingering fragrance of last night's rain. I inhale the night air, try to feel it on my palm. It slips through my fingers like a skein of silk.
The feeling of expectancy is around. Vague. Nebulous.Teasing. Asking to be grasped again.
Up above, on the sky, a pale, moon is shivering beneath the fluffy wrap of clouds.
Night is calm. Its stillness soporific. The suspended stars take my breath away.
But in few hours it will be dawn. The day will just burst open.
And the spell will be broken.


© Nazia Mallick  

Monday, November 11, 2013

Like Snow


the waxen face of moon
melting 
in the pool of tears
like snow
in my palms



© Nazia Mallick  

Tuesday, September 17, 2013

Talash




      Don’t look for Love, look for the one looking for  Love.
       ~Rumi   

                                            
                        

Wednesday, August 14, 2013

Anew



Look what happens with
a love like that-
it lights up the whole sky.

~Hafiz~



Picture:Google

Tuesday, August 6, 2013

Throes





Dear heart-
in the winter of love,
when these glass panes begin to quake,
I rush to close my aching windows.




© Nazia Mallick  

Image:www.robertstrongwoodward.com

Saturday, August 3, 2013

Flow





                                Sometimes, 
                                just tears-
                                brimming with that vague fulfillment
                                to untie the knots;
                                and let the heart breathe.



© Nazia Mallick  


Photo:Google

Friday, July 26, 2013

Pauses




"Who is not afraid of pure space...that breathing , empty space of an open door?" -Anne Morrow.




Picture: Rumi