Walls replete with sonnets you cannot read
I use invisible ink
in places where poetry is not meant to be.
in the brooding shadows of autumn’s moon
using fire-flies to lighten heavy couplets.
Writing odes in the pitch darkness
of unrequited love
on the frosted panes
of wintry wine glasses .
Feigning languid disinterest
so you wouldn’t be obliged to see
the unbearable surrender in
the haikus of my euphonious silence,
using your loss as free license
for climbing rhyme vines.
Punctuation and meter often misplaced
in the farrago of heaped pain.
Though my pen and its flowing juices
are my nepenthe, my salvaged flotsam;
I see elegies when dreams are earthed.
Darkness lends character and colors
to lyrics too pale to withstand sun shine.
I want so badly to write about the rose
yet it always turns to “rue” and “woes”.
A time stolen, a space pristine
I carry them with me to prevent
dislodgement of my cornerstones
and life from turning into
another Sisyphean tale.
An alibi for my frequent,
imperceptible absences from life
A testimony to my inner tankas of hope
My hidden growlery in this world
of cyber- tinged butterflies.
My island of blank verse
♥Published thanks to Rukhaya M.K