Learning to Breathe

CALLING ON AN EMPTY HOME Familiar streets, familiar buildings, An old key to match the rusting lock A stubborn door, weathered and wise - Lift it to the right and it creaks open. The old wooden table, with notches and scratches, The same burn from the spilt milk. I wince - I feel the sting, a decade too late. The same wall with incomprehensible dashes Like ants crawling in zigzagged fashion, A letter, a dash, a number, An unraveled code of growth and wisdom, With dusty trophies as evidence. A worn desk with crumbling papers And jammed books, All holding the memories of a time that once was, A time, never found again. Familiar walls, familiar pages - An absence of faces, an absence of voices. Memories volleyed from wall to wall, Fate decreed, page after page, Now lying undisturbed, unheard. A flood of nostalgia unleashed Through the opened door Into a cold, fragile mind, Brimming, overwhelmed, Screeching with echoes. So...

DOUBLE MURDER Book spread-eagled on the desk Fallen flat after a leap of faith. A morbid, macabre morgue, It stinks of rotten Fate. Skin grainy and wrinkled, Pale yellowy flesh. Dog eared, unbound, A murder - bloody fresh. Scarlet rivers overflowing Every finger, every limb. Veins of protein rich blood, Splattered over the brim. Black ants form a queue Muttering in meters, Chanting hymns to the Devil And his creeping, crawling critters. No lone murder, Second victim at its side. Eyes in Keatsian stupor, Dead or alive? Kick the bodies over, Pages unfurled fly. A shroud for the corpse To let out a sleepy sigh. Alarm bells a-ringing, A frantic dance of unrest, Caffeinate the eyes, Tomorrow's the test! - Maryam Kaleem

UNWEBBED With cool dew waking up the drowsy woods, Dazed by the perfume of jasmines divine, Amidst a lush labyrinth of lilting leaves, Lies a flimsy dwelling of glassy white. Eight fingers crawl between the latticed blinds Expanding their fortress, conquering woods, Circling, ensnaring the innocent fly, Trapped within blades of the hypnotic web. Pleased with her might, tarantella performed, A commanding glory, to her is due - But a little songbird comes bolting through, The fortress vanquished, dauntlessly it flew. Credulous be that flies to traps and death, With wide wings, rather soar to challenge threats. - Maryam Kaleem

CHANGE What do you do when change falls on you  Like a bolt of lightning? When the world spins and spins, Making you dizzy and insane, And the blue roof above your head Collapses and shatters into bits, And within each shard you see yourself -  Bloodied, broken. You stand alone in a world Suspended in empty chaos. No life breathes. No leaf moves. No breeze brushes against your skin. Bodies lie dead like fallen dominoes. Death prevails at center stage. But the corpses rise once more Pale as leper's skin, The wind begins to howl - Now cold and biting. Leaves bleed their color Setting fire to the trees, While the moon smirks as she cloaks The world with witchcraft. Change ushers in a netherworld, The mind snatched from the bower it holds on to, Memories frozen into streams of ice, Dreams burning away blinded eyes, And with it, extinguished lies the soul. A mere body, an empty vessel - Awaiting judgement. ...