The Fourth Day: Raihanah

I am the ink that failed to dry on paper

The wet words and the tired puns

I’m the tear drop that smudges the sheets

Waiting for a message

Crying for the beauty of poetry

I am the wishful writer.

 

I am the eyes that pry

The voice that probe

The fingers that poke

I am the gentle touch for analgesia

The firm knife that cuts away the pain

I’m the panacea

I’m the drug,the soother

I am the healer.

 

I am the skin that’s wrung dry

The chapped lips with red underneath

I’m the beady eyes of Shadows

The windy curves that tingle for passion; The in-betweens, the crevices

I’m the thick black hair,the bosom that swells

I am the woman.

 

I am the feisty fire

The crackling burning flame

I’m the spark

The smoke after I found my water

I’m the kindling for his fire

The embers of our passion

I am the art,the picture

His frame.

 

I am the cat,ferocious

Slow..tired.. Lazy

I’m the feral guardian

I’m the recluse

The bold half moon

The schizophrenic thinker.

I am the flighty.

I am the sign.

 

Fragrant Rose.

Spicy Basil.

Scarred Feline.

Flawed Traveller.

Dark Angel.

Struggling Saint.

I am Raihanah.

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10 responses to “The Fourth Day: Raihanah

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