The Whore

An enigmatic and evocative poem by Ayub, exclusively for Different Truths.

 

This darkness

Of the room why doesn’t become darker?

Memories of the past flicker on the walls,

In such a glare as the eyes don’t close.

The sleep of centuries,

Stands at the threshold of mind,

Stitching new dreams on the hem, 
Of a shameless half exposing dress, like a whore’s.

Bracelet of wild promises on the milky wrist,

Gold snake around the goblet-shaped neck,

Tingle of lascivious smile leaping on the

Saliva producing lips,

A disk of blue moon on the forehead

Ornaments with a glimmering of jade,

Swaying, inviting pendants on the lobes,

And chinking rings clinging around the ankles.

Who knows how long has been impatient to come in.

 

But the walls and doors,

And everything in the room,

Chair, table, paper, and pen,

The bower of ghazals, the forest of poems,

To each tree of the forest,

Fireflies are clinging like leaves.

And like these fireflies,

The twinkling glow of your eyes doesn’t fade.

How murkiness of the room

Should become darker!

How these eyes should close in such darkness!

How shall this whore hide?

In the corneas, behind the wonder laden lashes

Unless the darkness becomes darker,

Unless all your reflections,

Imprisoned in each object of the room grow dim.

This whore, late at night,

When reaches me after distributing

Dreams among the exhausted eyes,

Of inhabitants of the world,

It stands at the threshold of my mind;

Keeps on knocking, and begs permission

To come into, but

What miracle has happened?

In the dim darkness of the room,

Between sleep and wonder-laden lashes,

Fireflies of your eyes,

A chamber of carved mirrors

O, God!

©Ayub Khawar

Photos from the Internet

#Poem #God #Whole #Eyes #Fireflies #Miracles #Verse #DifferentTruths

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