Aimanu B. Ali Poems

Sitting under an old tree
I am not daydreaming of love.
The light breeze,
the gust of wind
...

I tried to evade trouble
but it called on me
like some unexpected guest.
I stepped out.
...

A river is a beautiful picture,
A joy to all who behold.
She sings, she dances,
Curve away from admiring glance
...

My eyes search for you
In the crowd,
Resting on the faces of the strangers.
Then I remember,
...

At night she rises up to the surface from the bottom of the pool of putrid water where she lies the whole day silently, walks out of it leaving green, slimy footprints on the tiled floor, glides from room to room searching for the unknown, seeing you she stops to smile, you shriek looking at her dead eyes and gumless white teeth.
She has changed from being invisible to a ghost woman.
...