Our Story Was Such by Ishtar Zikr
Ploughed by the harsh hands of “hollow-souled” harvesters,
life dragged its belly on barren lands — now, abandoned.
Vanishing days and vanishing nights of yesteryears
now lay frozen on the eyelids of cold faces
questioning the stranger in their mirror --
carrying a bosom neither heaving nor collapsing,
upon which "wet threads" run
between the lashes and iits "red stain" —
flowing drop by drop onto their futile hearts.
Dignities rolled and tossed in dust,
like a newly wedded virgin-bride raped on her "first night".
Like a clay body curved into a fetus
witnessing its own demise;
suspended between time,
suspecting God’s will,
paralleling fate to the falling sand grains in an upside down hourglass --
paused transitorily between nowhere.
Evenly placed rusted bars
invisibly ran from Nadir to the Zenith,
keeping “white thoughts” within disfigured infinite boundaries.
Like the minds of hand-fed birds
picking seeds out of a generous palm;
fed only enough to leave them hungry
so they keep coming back for more --
unaware of the snares buried beneath the last granules,
waiting to snatch a feet here,
a beak there,
... or perhaps, a whole wing too!
So that no songs are sung,
no boundaries are crossed,
no skies are discovered
…. and no birds fly free.
Oh, our story was such.
We have moved.
Yes, with muted voices,
and broken wings
we have moved from there.
... learning ways of the wind we have moved --
with wings of falcons we now soar high
higher than we ever did before,
abandoning barren pasts
leaving behind those scars,
we fly again!
Yes, we fly again!