29/04/2012 by Siddiqui Fayesal
The Sun glanced slyly from behind the cloud as
I walked along the broken and unapologetic road.
I hid behind skeletons of structures,
Forgiven by the mighty winds, to cheat its harshness.
The peeking lantern went down but I stayed
Hidden in my solitude.
Away from the light, away from prying eyes and away
From those I loved.
The dying light reminded me of my mother’s last whisper.
In Death or a tertiary road, whichever I choose, her
Whispered plea answered will be my
Mark of conquest.
My father lay waiting for me to come back to where he
Thought, Hoped, I belonged.
He’s hoping I make it to the end. Not necessarily as a
Just make it.
His wishes wouldn’t issue forth from that day on.
He feared that I would be forced to choose the
Worse from his fork on His road.
It’s late. The dying goodbye of the Sun’s erstwhile
Mighty glow lost to the heavy darkness.
The hour of my choosing.
My decision to move was worthless,
It’s nearing the end of its usefulness.
But this is a journey I have to make.
My lovely woman tells me that I’ll come home a
If I come, I say under my breath.
She thinks of me as those conquistadors
From the stories of old.
She tells me with tears in her eyes this.
Does she believe it herself?
Or are those yearnings meant to placate her
And not me?
She is naive.
She is innocent, believing much too easily.
She puts forth too much by truisms and folk tales.
Her mother taught her so.
The good versus the bad!
The soul versus the conscience.
The good wins. The evil languishes in pain while
The good walks away with a high head.
But not always alive, isn’t it?
Ha! My poor innamorata, please believe me
When I say goodbye. Believe this
Phantom who has nothing worthy to
Give you as he goes over to the dark side.
You will return, she says.
In the glory of life, I question,
Or in death’s ruddy haze?