noor.rehman khawerHow many forms can hope take
Before it lines the pavement?
How many gutted dreams, painted over till
The canvas needs replacement?
I am less than echo, poor facsimile of youth
I find I anticipate it:
The shock, the pity, as I try to mask
I fail and replicate it
Desperate in the shadows now
I hide each spark, match, lit fuse
My God, could I once, too, pretend
that I had nothing left to lose?
Not envy, but stagnation tinges green the form
Shadowed, sequestered, I stay still in hope
If I draw enough blood, marrow, bone
Could I bait back potential on my gallow’s rope?
No muse, no siren calls as strong, a life wasted sings persistent
The mockery only in my head, locks out all sense, resistant
So offer willingly, do I, the tithes to a fleeting life:
The fear of an ever ticking clock, a stained, shaking pallete knife.