Poem- In the Moon's Absence

For many nights now, the moon
has been searching for an opening
through the thick, black curtain
of monsoon clouds.

Resenting the moon's absence,
the sea lies listless
while in her sorrow the wind
is hollow and mute.

The nightingale too,
in a state of confusion
has almost forgotten
her primeval song.

And I, who have bowed
to the solemn beauty of the orb,
find myself flinching
in the shadow of perpetual gloom.

Zaina Anwar, July 2011

Poem- The Wreck

Odd Nerdrum. Love Divided, 2005

Once you spoke to me of love.
Those were passionate days.
Not a moment to lose,
so we sped through time,

orbiting the earth.
But then, imperceptibly,
a little gap, followed by
minor disasters, strange misapprehensions.

Until a veritable chasm
has opened itself between us.
My limbs can't stretch themselves enough.
And worst of all, I don't even have

the requisite will to move.
So, let us suffer in silence.
I won't even raise a finger.
Not anymore, I won't.

Zaina Anwar, July 2011

Poem- The Tunnel

Sleeping Beauties by artist Terri Windling

Sneak me in, why don't you?
Then we can travel
through the long, dark tunnel
of endless night and myriad
guilt-encrusted dreams.

Besides, who can say?
We may emerge at the other end
shaken but cleansed
of the horrors in a lifetime's
hoarding of grief.

Zaina Anwar, July 2011

Poem- Fragment XXII

She, an anonymous woman, glided past
leaving a purple trail of lavender scent.
He, an afflicted man, clutched his heart,
retrieving suddenly
the memory of a long-lost love.

Zaina Anwar, July 2011

Fragment XXI

A poet is someone who captures ephemeral moments of beauty we have failed to see. A poet specializes in the truthful dramaturgy of life, at times holding a dangerous mirror to our conscience and repressed memories.

Zaina Anwar, July 2011

Poem- A Memory of Love

I have a riddle,
a riddle for you, my love:
why did the tree
of our childhood stop growing?
Or the wind carrying the scent
of apple blossoms stop blowing?

Now as I stand
close to our afflicted tree,
I remember the creases of your skin,
my heart against your heart
beating a strange prophetic rhythm.

And it is in anguish that I hear
the strains of a music we made
so very long ago
floating over to me now
as I sit in the leafless shade
of our beloved childhood tree.

Zaina Anwar, July 2011

Fragment XX

What constitutes a meaningful encounter? Is it something as momentary as a glance? Or a gesture or a solitary spoken word that stands out among all the rest? Is time at all relevant during such an encounter or does it acquire significance only afterwards, once the experience of the other turns into memory?

Zaina Anwar, July 2011

Poem- Some Moments

London by Yaroslav Gerzhedovich

Your body recedes
in pale decibels of mirth.
Splintered in half,
the lone twig falls to earth.
How could I forget
that lonely autumn day?

I remember how the setting sun
lulled our senses to sleep
and the bonfire drew
light out of the darkening sky,
avariciously,
flames reaching high.

Some moments always remain,
seeping through time's mystic prism.
Like pre-historic minerals these,
asking to be mined
over and over again.


Zaina Anwar, July 2011