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.


Basque-Land said...

Love that image of the brain being an "over-soaked teabag". Describes how I have felt losing my mama. (9 months ago). Even though I am an old woman, one can still feel like an orphan. Good to read you again.

Nazia Mallick said...

Thank you, Rozanna. It's nice to see you here after such a long time. I am really sorry for your loss. May God give you strength to deal with the grief. Peace and love.


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