Author: Rafia Bilkis
The autumn rain falls sleepy on crinkled orange, strewn along the path, winding with no certain destination into the far horizon of the setting sun where fire meets fire and the world burns its wildest before the waning sun ushers cold slumber and all is covered in white sound
The word human
I, what is– ‘I’? I call myself the word ‘human’ But, what is human? Not the word but the thing itself? Am I the thing itself? Or that which says this is ‘I’? But, what says ‘I’? What is I? What is I? I, I, I, caw-caw, a crow crows.
Between man and woman
Give she the mantle of the heart before she can wonder Give she all the fire and rain before she can build her ship Give she the bare skin and blood of birth before she can uncover her jewel Give he the weighty hammer and the anvil before his feet can take flight Give he the…
I woke up a honeybee today
I woke up a honeybee today zipped and dunked into sweet lips, a kiss of gold dustings on my skin. I went about my nature with not a question in mind but swirling in movement and sensations, Softness Sweetness Scents and Oh! the buzz and buzz of my countryfolk
wear it tight
Your body uncurls, stretches deliciously and spills on the sheets, pink tongue slips out and in. I wonder what it’s like, I wonder the purity in you to be soft in the presence of a being so capable of harm My skin longs for the same but, I wear it tight.
It too knows
It too knows, seen its brethren slaughtered, eaten— felt the raw course of illness in their blood, crushed skulls, aged bones and bitter cold yet they lope off walls, graze with ease in the fields, stands easy in the winds, flits past closed buds like nothing is of consequence like everything is, as is yet my…
The bug scuttles across the pavement hints of red amidst the sheer wings head lifted proudly on spindly limbs. The sky seems lighter today, thin clouds— The bug scuttles back from whence it came, peaceful in its knowing unknown the span of the sidewalk.
A son’s question
Your harsh light has my head beaten down to the toes my ears red to the heat. Father, there is too much to see to have these curious eyes only to the grains touched to these feet Mother! Let out your braided branches cover me in your dappled shadows so I may taste more than the…
will be gone
My head rests on soaked mud, the sky drizzles and my vision blurs It’s hard to keep my eyes open I look up your stem, silky petals curled pink and one hangs precariously, a few more moments and it drifts down to join me Ah…soon all your sisters will join but I, will be gone
A willow spills her joy
There in the glade, a willow spills her joy in the wind shaking left and right like a slow dream It spreads through the underbrush a hush, a spell that beckons— A roe nimbly floats through the soft curtain of quiet rain and I,sit on a bench, entranced, a specter, a ghostly figure who forgets…