Morose and smoke-smelling The words fall from my pen On their knees – already crippled No mourning – they will never be read Meaning doesn’t flow but Evaporate and mingle with the dust Which a riot of thoughts Leave in its trail. Smudged images of lips And a tempting gaze appear And then, swim down towards the depths Like fish threatened by pebbles My heart reflects on my weary face Like dust-washed clothes outside Anarkali shops And there is a silence frightened Of the tragedy of love on which it floats. Will butterflies go to heaven? Why the ink in my soul smells like poison? Are fears vultures that prey on my spirit? Or pigeons lost turned into filthy crows? Why devils open up graves within the broken? Is it death that whispers behind my laughter? Or regret cursing its legion in desperate tones? Do the unloved deserve to die? Noor, I’ll set everything on fire The stars, the dried flowers, and ghosts The diaries, friends, and prayers The angels, demons, and poison within your soul. The writer is a student of English Literature at Government College University, Lahore and can be reached at rosseautolstoy5@gmail.com Published in Daily Times, November 3rd 2017.