dhuhr [mid-afternoon]
The pıƃıɹɟ air smelled of coffee,
as I trudged pass the countless shops
that sat in neat rows.
I could feel the sunlight refracting
against my stiff form,
when I made my way to
the ｄｕｌｌ glass that showcased the
battered coffee machines.
I ѕqυιитє∂ my eyes,
then
immediately
shrunk back.
For I saw those
black handles and knobs
ｓｍｉｌｉｎｇ at me.
Just the way you did,
when you had
handed me
a luke-warm glass
of that same
potent smelling liquid.
But not before the cup had slipped,
and ｓｈａｔｔｅｒｅｄ on our
wooden floor.
And then you had
p
i
c
ked up the
endlessly scattered pieces,
letting them scar your fingers.
And as I peered into the
dim-light shop again
I questioned,
about the person who would do the same,
when my hope was shattered,
ｂｅｙｏｎｄ repair.
YOU ARE READING
faded blue
Poetryin which a girl writes down her thoughts on tattered blue pages, with only a worn-out copy of the Quran, a long dress, two granola bars, three dollars and her Lord to guide her while surviving on the streets of New York City. ~ They say that somewhe...
