Treasure Island

Shahid Sarwar


She Died


I grew certain of her demise
When my hand moved
Down the vacuum of her form.
She didn't hear the cries
Of my fingers.
Her adamant eyes
didn't absorb mine.
The warmth of my limbs
Didn't even glisten
The glacier of her
Earthly form.
My words like plastic toys
Crashed into the marble
Of her dead hearing.
A dried up stream
between parched embankments.
No more was the aromatic magic
Of her breath there to counter
The stink of elements.
And she never bloomed
With the breeze of my breath
that moved over her skin.
Then this lifeless SHE
rose up, made for the door
And left hauling down
The tower of her glory
To the abyss of deep humility.
Life recoiled to the minimum
Mass of a ball,
Perhaps to defy every renaissance.

Submitted: Tuesday, December 17, 2013
Edited: Tuesday, December 17, 2013

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