Bareena Jamal

Flame drenches

Just a seventeen year old, trilingual girl going through middle life crisis.

He sieves the sunlight through his fingers,

-Fine dust.

A questioning glance, a silent murmur, a lingering touch,

Greed, love, lust?


Pierced heart,

poisoned flames,

Whisper—"black magic”;

-why take all this pain?


 Say, “Love is a rose”,

Can’t blossom on its own.

Bask in gold, sway in the rain;

albeit, pricks you when its grown.


She’s a wildflower;

a dandelion, a weed.

Unwanted; but pleasing to look at,

unaware of her roots- pays no heed.


His eyes trail back to his own,

hands shackled,

 by their every word.

Eyes downcast, stumbling feet,

-utterly incapable of being loved.


“It’s money,” they speculate,

For love is in beauty, love is in pain;

for passion to ignite,

and it has burning flames.


But time ticks away,

and they frail;

- them roses.

And they twist and turn,

- under the trials the wind imposes.


The mirrors, they shatter;

unluck-no trust;

When creases mark her skin,

 and he grasps his hands around a cane;

Love isn’t beauty, only pain,

 now only a bane.


- Every flame drenches,

  in moments of rain.