Yours

There are times when

I wish I knew magic

I would weave a spell,

I would conjure a trick

I would heal your heart,

But

There is no magic in the world

There are no phoenix tears

No enchanted pomegranates

No exorcisms for the ghosts of pain

No magical mortar to cement broken hearts

There are times when

I wish miracles still happened

I wish prophets still walked the earth

I would visit every messiah I could find

I would follow every prophet to heal your heart

But,

The Dead no longer rise on a touch

The seas no longer part for striking rods

The Lepers refuse to dance with joy

The moon and the stars are no longer cleaved

There are times when

I wish time travel was possible

I would freeze time and trace back steps

I would stop you from walking to that moment

I would break the space-time continuum

But,

Rivers refuse to go upstream

Mountains refuse to bow

Sands refuse to meld in the sun

But,

I cannot heal your heart,

No matter how much I try

No matter how hard I cry

All I can do is give you mine

Take it,

It’s yours

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.

Undelivered Package

There is an uprising coming it was supposed to be here yesterday but I suppose it is lost in the mail who do I write to the website had no address only a small warning goods once sold can not be returned maybe I should have known then not to trust Nigerian princes with unclaimed millions and fully functional revolutions leftover from the days of the next war Maybe it is stuck at customs maybe it would have been better to wait for my cousin to travel in, so he could sneak it in packed neatly between airport toblerone and contraband iphones

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 -- Tz

Tasenda

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