Monday, October 4, 2010


Some memories rise like yeast
And keep rising, mutating
On nights that are not insulated by dreams.

Some memories rend the night air
Like the distant whistle of the watchman, who shouts in the silent gloom...Stay awake!

Some memories ….
Rest gently, like dried flowers in pages of old books
And fill the night with the mossy fragrance,
Of the meadows of lost love.


Elisabeth said...

Memories are the stuff of poetry, Nazia, at least they are to me, as is evident in these beautiful lines. Thanks.

Nazia Mallick said...

Thank you Elisabeth, as always!!

Basque-Land said...

I like the part about memories "mutating" as it is always fascinating to me how a memory of a specific thing can be so different than another's memory, and ah the "meadows of lost love", bittersweet and then of course those shouting memories. I like. Thank you, as always thought provoking.

Nazia Mallick said...

Rozanna. Thanks a lot.

For me the ones that rest gently
like old roses pressed between yellowed pages are the real treasures...
Rest die down somewhere in the tempest of the past.


Last night you wrote your sonnets in  Braille: the commas, parenthesis, ellipses engraved perfectly on my skin- and  I  ...