Afshan Aqil

NOVEMBER'S DREAM

The campus 

Has yellow flowers, 

In abundance blooming, 

The golden sky facing,

Where streams the light 

Of November sky, bright, 

Downwards slanting, 

On the flowers falling. 

In a rose bush

Blooms a white rose,

Small and delicate,

With incurved petals.

Ruffled by the breeze,

 A petal comes loose.

Another follows,

Floating skywards.

The sky is now, white. 

The air too is white, 

Where sail the petals 

Like the paper kite.

The petals then turn

Into sheets of paper,

Sailing together,

One behind the other.

A pen in mid-air,

Then appears, 

To fill the white sheet 

With black letters

But is checked 

By the thought 

That the sheet

Would be marred. 

The pages are left

Blank and unmarred.

I DREAM OF ROSES

Past midnight, 

The white moonlight

Falls on the roses 

In the dark hedges.

In a row, in the hedge- 

A cup, pastel pink;

A bright orange 

Tongue of a flaming wick;

A lemon-yellow bud,  

Tight as a knot 

Of satin ribbon 

In dark hair.

White as the moon, 

A rose in full bloom

Shines conspicuous 

In the shadowy bush. 

Drawing close I gaze,

Mesmerised, lost,

 At the smiling face

So tender and soft. 

 A bush then, rustles,

A light thing nestles,

Caught in the trailing 

Drape of the dress.

“Is it a bird,

Its sleep disturbed, 

A moth or a butterfly?” 

Curious, I wonder. 

I step back in fear

And gently release 

The trapped creature, 

To see with surprise,

A red rose, springing, 

A silent bell ringing,

Upturned like a chalice

Made of glass,

Its petals, symmetrical,

Finely chiseled, 

Thin as cellophane,

Almost transparent, 

Admitting the moonlight, 

Glowing with a light, 

An aura bright, 

Of its own.

The flower was rare, 

Beyond compare, 

The beauty of the rose 

Indescribable in verse. 

It seemed unearthly 

In its delicacy 

But was close by,

Not in the sky.

TALL DAHLIAS

In a garden

On the hillside, 

A plot of dahlias

Crimson n white. 

The flower-heads, five,

Larger than life,

Out topped the cypress 

Waving beside.

Dignified, stately, 

Resilient, strong, 

Their tall stalks 

Reached the sky.

My friend and I

Passing by,

Gazed up in awe

At the flowers.

A cool breeze then

Began to blow

From a nearby fountain,

Hidden from view. 

Pure as vapours,

Fresh as dew,

It filled the heart

With a coolness, new.

I woke up then

At early dawn

To find myself 

Lying supine,

Flown back

By the breeze

From the garden

In the skies,

The cool air

Still hugging,

The lungs filling

With coolness, queer,

A blissful state, 

With the air

Entering deep 

Inside the heart.

It left me wondering,

After some time, 

How lingered the feeling 

Of coolness in the dream.