The Empty Apartment

I draw a deep breath,

An empty chair sits in the corner

Hastily scribbled notes scattered

Around the desk, abandoned

Like lilacs in battle filed

Wandering eyes rest among the

Clumped clothes, a black sequined

Scarf pokes pathetically from

Among the ruins of our lives,

Staring at me, accusing me

A half-eaten apple still

Sits on the top the fridge, next

To the owl totems from the time

We visited the dead shaman,

You used believe in

The movers are here,

Walking up the narrow stairs

Stomping feet leaving shoe marks,

You so hate, across the Floor,

Our floor

The empty boxes laid in front of me

Forcing decisions I never wanted

To make, what to keep and what

To ditch, how much luggage to leave

For the insidious new occupants

Comments

Some Other Time

We will be counting days again, till we say hello again— only for us to say goodbye again. We always knew we’d have to say our goodbyes one day. Then why does it hurt so? Even so, when we know it won’t be long before even goodbyes are a luxury. We cling to hopes— that this isn’t the only life we will live. That one day, we will meet again, in some other life, in some other time, where we won’t have to say G oodbye.

Zulaikha’s Lament

Blotted and Stained Like blood on apples, My reputation remains in tatters After these years But what was a woman to do? -- He had the face of An angel His shoulders, A sculptors dream His eyes, spoke a million languages his lips, like daggers driven apart -- I grew outside of Cairo Unloving father and sad mother Sold me for a goat and A bag of gold To the first merchant who They came across -- My Husband, Kind, Generous man Made me his wife And put me along with Thirteen others -- My Husband, Kind Generous man Kept me happy Visited me twice a month Blessing me with His drunken kisses and Impotent rage -- I was never sad What more could A woman want? Lots of wealth and An impotent husband Sex was a chore The price of being so glad -- Then he came Chained and covered with dust Another man from the Slave traders den He stood at the gate Neither sad nor in jest Even at a distance...

Tasenda

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