At Night

Thursday, April 21, 2005 | 2 comments

by

Amena Farooq




The moon and I,
We come out at night —
She with her pale light,
I with my pale hopes —
Feeble folk afraid to face
The merciless illumination of the day.

She comes out when
Her anaemic glimmer
Can outshine the rest;
I take refuge where my brightness
Is my orange bedclothes,
The glare from my laptop screen
And the naked kitchen bulb.

My pride is plated with gold
And wrapped in raw silk.
It sits on the mantelpiece
And crawls closer to the edge every day.
Soon it will tumble into the blazes
And I will let out one last shriek,
One last firework shall I see,
A dismal display
Eclipsed by the bustling skies of day.
Thursday, April 21, 2005 | permalink | 2 comments

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2 Comments:

Beautiful, beautiful, thats all I must say! what a striking metaphor..

By Blogger Malik Hakem al-Baqara, at April 23, 2005 3:41 AM  

lovely!! loved reading every bit of it.

By Anonymous Anonymous, at April 30, 2005 9:21 PM  

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