Saturday, March 5, 2011


My heart is my canoe. It treads in the flowing waters of life, lightly purled by the gild of my deepest longings. It is the maverick, dodging into the free marshes ahead and then in self forgetfulness it waits, watching me with its glittering cyclops eye. Rising above the summer wheat fields and grey muddy pastures, it roams amidst the slopes and petunia-leaves, slipping like shadows from the wing of a large eagle.
I gaze on it amazedly. It hums; it stirs; the currents flowing quietly.

My road was long; my journey rough; but I sang I loved and I wondered.

Those times when I sat in a train compartment looking at the flat fields of the countryside, steeped in the fragile glow of dusk, while the trees, rows upon rows, rushed by like raving witches in some shamanic ritual.
I would looking at the sunset blazing on gabled buildings, and force myself to feel blank. Free.


Elisabeth said...

This journey of life, whichever way we travel, is one of endless fascination and beauty. You convey it here so well, Nazia. Thank you.

Nazia Mallick said...

Thank you Elisabeth.
Wander lust is one lust that relatively lasts forever.


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