Friday, March 8, 2013

Friday's Children by Afzal Moolla



I, alone


Plunging into my rootless heart,
with daggers and thorny dreams.

I stagger alone,
my famished thoughts sliced apart,
my senses adrift on tear-speckled streams.

Squirming through pockets of tattered hope,
each laboured smile a convincing fake.

I slip alone,
in futile freefall on a sand-paper slope,
to be mutedly impaled on memory's stake.

Diving deeper into the darkness that I fear,
surrendering the will to feel,

I crumble alone,
though I cannot shed a solitary tear,
and I refuse to ever cower or to kneel.

Emerging from under the murky grime,
clasping the frayed fibres within,

I crawl alone,
out of the anguish of today's slime,
banishing a million tragedies before they begin.

Rising up into the scarred night,
cocooned in the warmth of an imminent dawn,

I, alone,

know the battles that I must fight,

in the coming tomorrows yet to be born.

Copyright © 2013 by Afzal Moolla









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