In the dying light.

Poetry dried russet leaves on branches wet after rainfall

Glass drops caught
on bare fingers
rolling down arms
lifted in a poise stilled
to the dying sun
wrapping sheaths of light
on her skin, splaying by her sides
a dancer frozen mid-spin —
A flurry of feathers, jolts her
arms flailing
sparkling beads spill
shatter into the ground.


Published by Rafia Bilkis

Someone just like you— living the living. My heart a portal of Words.

18 thoughts on “In the dying light.

  1. And my impressions of your lovely poem, is that in the twilight hours, when the sun is weak, a sudden passing of a bird, maybe rushing off to roost, startles a beaded dancer in mid-step hands over her head. Whatever were your intentions, Rafia, it holds lovely imagery:)

    Liked by 1 person

    1. This is a beautiful image you have conjured, I lovee reading such feedbacks, I am always curious about what someone else associate with the written word. Thank you for this Karima ❤


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