Painting Time

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I’’m wasting colours, painting time,

Throwing the pen in the air,

Slicing okra in the orange-faded

Kitchen, watching the thirds tessellate

Like broken stencils in the colander.

The metal fades, so I drag the blinds

And unscroll the curtains to see rain

Slipping down the windows.

The Song? Tapestries of water

Drops, puddles, oceans, casting lullabies,

I try to follow – but my voice dies,

They whisper the tune until I forget.

Everything turns to dust:

I can tell you I will, not when,

There are shapes in the shadows,

One day the light will go out

And the shadows will spill.

She worries about your future,

Whether you have everything or nothing,

The world is dangerous, mad for things,

People fight for land, oil, metal,

Things that will turn to dust, one day,

She lays you close to her heart,

Cradling your tiny, porcelain hands.

The truth?

She cannot protect you from life,

Only join you in death,

Rising away.

Footnote

Taken from muslimyouthmusings.com

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