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AyeshaPoems
the universe watches with her mischievous eyes as silence stretches on between me and the mechanical city from up here, in winds’ embrace the cars are decades away, and lights only a vivid memory straining the back of my skull the universe, too, breathes I hear her now hear the vacancy stir in her bones one— and the archers running down my throat two, like the lambs slaughtered beneath them eyes three and four and nine— cracked toe-nails laden with mud —ten women weeping eleven wishes for the wilting weeds I sense a chariot bumping down the ribs twelve for the wounded boy limping up the hill twenty— a hundred and hundred more inhale I fathom the seconds kiss their hours and hours melting into days weeks and minutes, years and more all chopped and cooked to a frothy stew I feel it fill up her being and vehicles with their horns midway halt— an owl’s scream stopped just beneath his beak and sun, statued, stands a thousand and the stilled plane twenty and five for them frozen flames sixteen— and the shooting star taped to the night — seven prayers left unuttered three for now, and three for the past, three more as all, into the unseen, falls two shivers, shivers still —one and a lone worm crawling down my veins one and the blue child up, up the swing exhale I swallow as the ticks sink back into the clock centuries dancing again — and months   come stumbling home millenniums and moments back to their protests as all the circus is born again
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Mar 29, 2021
Mar 29, 2021 at 6:49 AM UTC
The blue child
the universe watches with her mischievous eyes as silence stretches on between me and the mechanical city from up here, in winds’ embrace the cars are decades away, and lights only a vivid memory straining the back of my skull the universe, too, breathes I hear her now hear the vacancy stir in her bones one— and the archers running down my throat two, like the lambs slaughtered beneath them eyes three and four and nine— cracked toe-nails laden with mud —ten women weeping eleven wishes for the wilting weeds I sense a chariot bumping down the ribs twelve for the wounded boy limping up the hill twenty— a hundred and hundred more inhale I fathom the seconds kiss their hours and hours melting into days weeks and minutes, years and more all chopped and cooked to a frothy stew I feel it fill up her being and vehicles with their horns midway halt— an owl’s scream stopped just beneath his beak and sun, statued, stands a thousand and the stilled plane twenty and five for them frozen flames sixteen— and the shooting star taped to the night — seven prayers left unuttered three for now, and three for the past, three more as all, into the unseen, falls two shivers, shivers still —one and a lone worm crawling down my veins one and the blue child up, up the swing exhale I swallow as the ticks sink back into the clock centuries dancing again — and months   come stumbling home millenniums and moments back to their protests as all the circus is born again
two for the pink boy, one, then one more, for the yellow girl we do not know what becomes of us or where we stand— just that digits and hues come rolling down and we can only sigh— 27/03/2021
#blue#child#universe#time#city
Ayesha
Written by
Ayesha
21/F/Pakistan
Mar 29, 2021
Mar 29, 2021 at 6:49 AM UTC
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