Steps are written on stones
Written asunder
Putrefied, fat dropping
A walker’s wish.
Silence overwhelmed
Wrapped under:
Am I audible
On the grasses’ path
I am in no hurry
Bringing,
Joining dots of owl’s eyes.
On a sea of mud
House wives’ dreamt
Awake, rising
To a promising life, a sub-urban
Habitation.
Starless, moonless
The afternoon’s grey
Is the night’s color.
A whole bunch of a sharp weed
Pulled, from prayer mat, to pick
A tooth. A recline on a rolled over
Woolen bistro rug.
Under every stone
Hidden, there is
Killed time.
I will bring you an hour glass
Of colored sand,
The only living moment.
Sadiqullah Khan
Islamabad
October 30,2013.
Owl perched at a tree branch at night, by Wing-Chi Poon @ Wikimedia Commons
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