Thursday, November 19, 2015

The night didn’t cascade--By Sheikha A.--Pakistan and U.A.E.

The night didn’t cascade

like a curtain of tresses on your face,
the window watched the moon pecking
at its humility, the air a whirl of aphrodisiac
penetrations, if only you’d remember my name
on your lips like a prayer, count me on beads
but of your skin that breaks under the light
left on so you can watch me break
in my eyes, we both know which is more
beautiful, more durable, of better arts
practised, you flinch at the sight of me –
my ghosts – the same alluring ink,
a different page, different moon
and breaking glass.

Sheikha A. is from Pakistan and U.A.E. and often finds herself in a world of oscillation that most of the times motivates her writing too. She maintains a (or tries to) blog on


  1. Wow! Sheikha A., this is an amazing poem! I love this! - Laura M Kaminski

    1. Laura, thank you for always being appreciative of my poetry, means an immense much coming from such a prolific poet like you. Thank you!

  2. Before I read Laura's comment Sheikha, I was thinking the very same thing. WOW is right. I loved the poem. Thank you for sharing your talent with this amazing poem. Right off the bat, having personified a window glass as humble, I was intrigued.
    Love Charlene.

    1. Charlene, you know I've been reading through some other links and nearly in each, I found you have the absolutely hammer-to-the-nail comments to make! I'm delighted that you read my poem with such keenness and commented too! Thank you muchly much!

  3. Sheikha,
    This poem is so beautiful! Great job!
    Your friend,
    David Fox

    1. Thank you for taking the time to read my work, David. =) Much appreciated!