The could-be’s and had-been’s.

By Aisha S   

Can beauty be penned, love lyricised?
Could you capture the moon in a sonnet?
Could you trap the sun whole in your eyes?

Emotions sit bottled in corkscrew gazes;
tight, taut, unyielding. With time and death
the soul suffocates. Let not it wheeze for breath,
for this heart of mine blazes
in brazen heat, an unbroken maze

That falters man in his final breath. Let not
love die within him, let not
life carry man sombre, weary-winged
down hell’s impassioned carcass.
And instead, glide gaily in the throes of

Rainbowed meetings and sultry praises,
Uptown-funk, enigmatic places where

Midnight dawns and you’ve no fear to
tiptoe amidst shards of evening graces.

Acheron has frozen over.
Trap me in those shadowed eyes, that hooded glance
and the embers aglow that dance like serpents
to bewitching reed-flutes within.

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Artistic interpretation of emotive suppression. Those afraid to give wings to fragmented hopes and dreams within us all.