The street is dark,
all I can see is the slight amber glow,
coming from my heart.

It leads the way, through the confines of my chest,
through mist, rain and snow
it's always doing its best.

One day, while walking as always,
I spot a faint amber glow
moving around in rhythmic ways.

Could it be?
Another person?
Maybe he's the same as me!

But however far I go,
however far I run,
I get no closer to the faint amber glow.

Memories,
What moments we hope to encase in amber,

Though revisited,
To feel as though we are returning home,

Though nurtured,
The times we were less alone,

Carefully we construe,
All we once ever knew,

Though the minds resin do not hold these moments,
For reconstruction distort preservation,

And memory in the mind,
is only as real as the ideal future

Amber


I never knew what larceny breeds,
I never learnt to give it any heeds,
It is Sheik Alís amber that just needs
I am nobody it all His deeds.
My teacher painted a painting few could see
But those who did flared with glee
The painting such that it looked like glass
Those who had eyes would see through the moss.

(By: Khan, BA)

Sere and yellow,
Rough and round, [bright pebbles in a mound]
Pitted and mellow,
Winding our necks round,
We wore them.

Amber beads unearthed from clay,
Fashioned by my artist love,
Glowing yellow, filled with day,
Captures sunbeams from above.
I still love them.

Some say gods have made these,
To ensnare the light of Sun,
But we women saved these,
In memory & hope of sons,
We keep them.

Fat & smooth as butter,
We turned them in our hands.
The bone beads scraped with madder,
The amber just with sand.

Those of shadowy carnelian
Embedded like a shield,
We treasure as we fear them,
Like wounds on battlefields.

The others soaked with brownish earth,
Sere and yellow,
Rough and round, [bright pebbles in a mound]
Pitted and mellow,
Winding our necks round,
We wore them.

So, when we are dead, take not from us,
These rounded, golden suns,
But bury them with us, with sword and severed buss,
To revere the slaughtered ones,
Who never returned to us.

Revised November 15, 2016

light
in places of shadowed hearth
arms of candle fire reach through the window panes
into the breath of frozen lips, the ballerinas of frost who dance into sleep
on all the leaves  in swathes of amber flood, the sun sinks down his head to rest
in beds of fire-colored moths,  clumps of dew and bracken hedge

I confused agave
for Amber
when you spoke
Drank a glass full

Choked on all the flys
In elementary school
Muesem of sepia boxes

Sluggish down my throat
Petrified My heart
buzzing
Pathetic, and filthy
frozen in carbonite nectar
Like a classroom fly

blush my cheeks
make my cold hands touchable
Harvest my Amber heart

I never was
A mourning person.
But I have always been
An exhibition.

Last night’s clothes
Still smell like the ghost of you,
Burnt amber and a hint of allspice,
Just enough to leave me
Haunted.

Rays shimmer off, like the sun on the water,
reflecting its beauteous stature.
Amber captures the moments,
holds them forever.
Soft, smooth, and unforgettable.
Confidence glitters within,
Elegance dazzles the exterior.