Mahogany Tree

Molten Mahogany

Making a path through
dingy, unwashed lanes
to avoid your eyes that seem to follow me
and trace my movements at the galleries,
organised gatherings,
post-midnight drinking sessions in the company of wayward friends,
and sound dreams while sleeping inside a nailed coffin.

Your eyes:
Blasphemic, showering sins on the common, country folks with grey and
wrinkled coats –
face deprived of moisture.

Your eyes that watch me,
are barkish brown in colour and reflects the light
like a 3.3 billion-year-old bright, bright glittering diamond,
which has just seen the sun
and was once a burning piece of charcoal.

Your eyes that follow me
are framed with lashes so black
that the darkness shies away.

Sometimes the moans of a jovial maiden
are heard in my dreams,
giving me a sense of upliftment –
I smile in my sleep  –
content like the lips locked in the last kiss
of parting lovers.

Waking up,
your eyes greet me again,
to the sunshine which I now carry,
tied on my weary shoulders
to offer you when darkness arrives
and becomes your only companion.

And yet,
you refuse,
to be seen by me.


Title courtesy: Seher Dareen. Read her beautiful blog here.
Art by Patrick Ogle.


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