In Barely Discernible Darkness

I will trace the Jhelum Across

Your back with my fingers

In barely discernible darkness

It will form a paisley

Drawn from the memory of

An imagined Kashmir

No language spoken by

Man or Gods shall be

Uttered that night

Words will be melded,

Sentences molded to form

A new language of love

The ink, a fine powdered

Amethyst, shall dry as

We write its grammar

The quill tips, fashioned

From old bones, shall

Burn in its blaze

The room will be

Full of scorch marks

In barely discernible darkness

Comments

Unknown said…

Lovely poem, Tasim. As I say always, enchanted.

April 22, 2015 at 3:39 AM

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Tasenda

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