In the dying light.

In the dying light.

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
Flap!
jolted, her arms flail
sparkling beads spill
shatter into the ground.


***








21 responses to “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

    • 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 ❀

      Like

Leave a Reply to schmitztimo Cancel reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

Blog at WordPress.com.

%d bloggers like this: