Hujrah
I
age in bouts – silver storm whipping
in
ears of the sea; there are many curses
that
seep from the tongue of a merjaan
plucked
from stone where its spirit keels
to a
cresting moon. Rugged waves get swept
under
overwhelming gushing of owls
on
sidled branches; the night turns an undertone
of
fire – to dream of a broken spine augurs
treacherous
love, but I dream of black fish
hanging
over a mantle against a senescent
wall
– crumbling nervous system as a sacrifice
for
stronger intuitive regency. If there was
a
ship that cut through sea haze, sailed
towards
the rear of a shore, I would find
him
surfacing from sand, like a descended
cenotaph
pushed to life where earth splits
and
air blows into destruction a kind of hope
prone
to illnesses. Night beach is damaged
cornucopia
entering from his window;
I
tell him destiny isn't the verdict of self-notion:
how
does one fall without having fallen,
and
he points to the silhouette of a woman
at
his feet, eyes coal pits of insomnia,
outside, the window a thickening haze –
How
to Read Reversals in Tarot
after
Amabella
Flip
the card of the Lovers in reverse;
tell
your fears to clear out the orbs
encircling
your head like premonitions.
You
have been dreaming of wings
large
like candle-cast shadows;
weigh
the lift of love from below
where
the feet don't touch the ground,
the
limp of her extended hand is nemesis,
is
expression of bondage – read it upright –
is
the look of Judgment, calling the Wheel
of
Fortune to appear in the midst of scatter;
array
of hope, as variety, as many as cups,
as
untamed as a lion at the beckon
of a
woman, as the Moon clear as daylight.
Sheath
the sword of the Queen,
there
is no truth to be told –
truth
is a nail in a forest, elusive
and
magical – because you've fallen
in
love – keep the card downwards
when
the Empress lifts her scry;
her
throne the cold of a stone
knowing
to be wary of Knights.
And
then draw the Devil, deliberately;
unshackle
the couple, watch him smirk
as
they run separate ways. They wrote
their
destinies before coming together
in a
new life – the past is centuries
of
star seeds never waking to purpose.
Now,
glance out of your window.
Watch the night alight from vapour trails.
Man-cub
after
'a people' (The Jungle Book)
Strike
stones: everything you touch in cinders.
So,
you'll hold me down by my shoulders
and
teach me the ways of a cabled forest,
how
lineages are extended like immunity
draining
from a wound. I have seen fights
take
down prayers from animals' flesh-
smelling
colloquies. There is a monster
in
these waters, tendrils like floating
fibres
whose rapacity eternally keeps
life
bleeding ghosts. A people we are
scattered
like ankle-deep hills of dust
and
billows of burning smoke, pushing out
of
rapine horizons like shells of golden flakes
appended
with slow rising echoes of a soil
laid
with prints of feet we follow for tracks
to
fruits of aspirations, songs of flavours.
Sheikha
A. is from Pakistan and United Arab Emirates. Her works appear in a variety of
literary venues, both print and online, including several anthologies by
different presses. Her poetry has been translated into Spanish, Greek, Arabic,
Polish Italian, Albanian and Persian. More about her can be found at sheikha82.wordpress.com
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