From the dungeons
of oblivion,
I may sleep on a highway
of gushing shadows,
where trembling
sky lit by the
pale crescent
is subservient to speech.
I,
I may carve a
solicit path
in the silent darkness
with conceited metaphors
bearing the weight
of roused punctuation
to the diminished
Land of
receptive ‘Qandahar’…
I,
I may inhale
the smell of
musical sand,
Unknown to the
musical voice,
rebelling against
defences of sanity.
Also readInsights of The Monster Inside.
I,
I may play
a game
With caravans of
flickering stars
embracing the moments
Of unharnessed joys.
I,
I may dance
on the winding staircase,
Of an imperious darkness
of unspoken grief
with atonal melody.
I,
I may grasp
for breath
from shivering shores
With inundating eyes
in the uproars
Of longing.
I,
I may hear someone saying
from the Virgin
sepulchral silence-
‘O, delirious erotica
Thine words infuse
an ultimate mysticism,
thou shall escape this colloquial gratitude’!
-Insha Bint Bashir
