Ayesha Khan: Favorites

Oct 2012 Ayesha Khan

Death isn't the only end of something beautiful

Oct 2012 Ayesha Khan

Salil Panvalkar

Death isn't the only end of something beautiful

Walking down the street, you catch a glimpse of the most beautiful woman

And in a second, your life flashes by, she’s with you till the end

Your grave is freshly dug, she sheds a tear

You've not had enough of her, you refuse to leave

She goes home and your ghost follows

She holds a picture of the two of you, forces a smile

Dinner seems to be the most silent and most painful

The television helps, at times

The actors fall in love time and again, this gives her hope

They make her laugh, yet your ghost just sits there. Expressionless

She reads, and reads some more

Books seem to be her new love

The pile next to her bed grows weekly as she can’t stop turning the pages

An old friend visits her, they speak about you

She puts on a smile but she’s not ready yet

They drive down to the fields and the grass clears her mind if only for a while

Your ghost takes a walk and leave her be for a while, but it’s not done yet

Weeks pass, your ghost wanders

She smiles a lot more, even laughs time and again

Once again, she has others in stitches

The second passes.

She walks past.

And yet her ghost just sits there. Expressionless

Oct 2012 Ayesha Khan

A Thousand Years

Oct 2012 Ayesha Khan

Nick

A Thousand Years

For a thousand years, I've found myself in these dark alleys, searching for a light, on the pathway to perdition,Waiting for someone to come along and wake me up from this nightmare.
For a thousand years, I'm the boy that I'm not, I've become the sophisticated mask that I'm wearing which conceals all my loneliness and agony.
For a thousand years, I've felt this burden residing in my chest, the heaviness of my heart, and the profound weight on my shoulders.
For a thousand years, I've been looking to be redeemed, to be salvaged, and to find a way to liberate myself from the curse of insecurity and desolation.
For a thousand years, I've been weary and cold, longing for love, wanting to be understood, and yearning to go home.

Oct 2012 Ayesha Khan

You Never Knew Me

Oct 2012 Ayesha Khan

Neva Flores Varga Smith

You Never Knew Me

I truly thought
I had found myself
in a wondrous place
where you could truly see me,
and that all my words
were forever immortalized.
Held close.......
inside of your everything,
soft......as a breeze.

I laughed as you stared
into my eyes, asking my name.
With my heart in your hands
and the moonlight
at your beck and call.
Then......watching you walk away,
I smiled.......
even though I realized
you never knew me
at all.

Oct 2012 Ayesha Khan

I Brushed My Hand Across What You Said

Oct 2012 Ayesha Khan

Neva Flores Varga Smith

I Brushed My Hand Across What You Said

I brushed my hand across what you said
then remembered
the exact moment I discovered
my favorite hiding place
where my heart could take deep breaths
and move away from the shadows
speaking as echoes across my mind.
I could feel them move far, far away
from my beating heart
taking me to heights
where I could escape to a better place,
I thought I'd never find.

The deepest pain.....all the hurt I feel,
becomes trivial in this journey
where I define myself
and rises above my existence
here in the solitude
I find
within this hiding place.
Here, my heart becomes softly addicted
to leaving behind
the complications which cling
to the railings
of all my inspiration
when I attempt to write
the song of a nightingale
and every bad memory.........
erase.

Oct 2012 Ayesha Khan

When She Writes About the Rain

Oct 2012 Ayesha Khan

Neva Flores Varga Smith

When She Writes About the Rain

There is a massive distance
between her smile and tears
when she writes about the rain.
Because her faded dreams
put her mind at ease
behind the places
where she stands
in pain.

Sitting in the garden
where one finds love
in those eyes
that speak of alone.
She writes lines
which intrigue mysteriously.
You can see her words dance
where she's walked,
when dawn breaks
across the trees.

The inner deepness of her words
hold on to each cloud,
crying out to the depths
of our bones.
They tell us our worst hours
contain the time outside
of her faded dreams
and that they too.....
will soon be gone.

When she writes about the rain
we smile
behind the places
where we stood in pain.
You can see her words dance
where she's walked,
knowing......
they never speak
in vain.