In the crowd,
You heard a voice.
In the flurries,
You felt a scent.
In the distance,
You saw a trail.
Feathers,
Pebbles
And tears;
You followed it.
Up and down,
High and deep.
Fast and slow.
And found a door.
Without any fear,
Without any thought,
Without any cognition,
You knocked.
The door was left ajar….
Was it an old cranky witch?
Was it a green clad mystic?
Was it a pink cheeked girl?
Tell me,
What did you see?
Why is your heart pounding?
Why are your cheeks glistering?
Why are your feet running?
Tell me,
What are you fleeing?
Your own shadow?
Your own thoughts?
Your own burdens?
Or is it her…
That creature you rose from sleep.
That prey you stirred into hiding.
That predator you attracted to hunt.
Tell me,
Do you wake up in the middle of the night?
And fear.
And think.
And ponder.
Oh what did you do…
Oh what will you do…
Oh what can you do…
Is it love?
Is it a dream?
Is it a story?
Something you will never tell.
Something you will never live.
Something you will never try.
Something that will keep you warm
When you lose hope.
When you need strength.
When you are lost.
Something that will keep you strong.
But what of her?
The damsel in distress.
The relentless banshee
The legions of furies.
But what of her?
The gentle lady.
The soft huntress.
The hungry mystic.
But what of her?
As you run with your fear.
As you hide from your fear.
As you cradle your fear.
Will she follow?
Or will she remain enraptured,
in a never ending song.
Or will she remain trapped,
in the scent of a memory.
Or will she remain spellbound
in the maze of your flight.
Think,
Think before you run.
Think,
Think before you hide.
Think,
Think before you forget.
You know,
Don’t you?
She will not forget.
She will not leave.
She will not fade.
She will carve,
She will weave,
She will write,
Your first steps.
Your faltering steps.
Your fading steps.
Halt,
Hush,
Here, here.
Who is she
Who was she
What is she
To you?
The rain never stops
The golden leaves become brown mulch
The remaining birds become wailing wraiths.
The trees become shivering strangers.
But in the death of night.
Utter stillness.
Utter silence.
Utter softness.
Is it dawn yet?
I can hear a hopeful bird brightly chirping.
I can smell the earth once more living.
I can hear the branches gently swaying.
The storm has ended.
Outside,
The path is sodden,
The boughs are green.
The sun is bright.
Cold, cold morning.
Are you still here?
The one I roved behind.
The one I drove away.
The one who remained.
Don’t leave,
Not when the fire’s dying embers.
Not when my words are dying embers.
Not when my heart is smothered in dying embers.
Don’t leave yet.
He left when all I did was
To scatter pearls in his hands.
To scatter petals in his hair.
To scatter tears on his heels.
You whom,
I run from every new moon.
I tiptoe to every full moon.
I hold close every waning moon.
Will you?
Will stay for the waxing moon?
I can see it in this army of bare trees.
I can see it reflected in the rainwater.
I can see it behind the veil of the clouds.
A silver glimmer of hope.
The words I draw in the mud
The songs I whisper in the night
The faces I make in the mists
All stem from fear.
Deafening terror.
Pounding horror.
Shivering stupor.
The wind blew yesterday.
Leaving but the bare earth.
Leaving but the bare trees.
Leaving but the bare heart.
The forest loses its mystery after
The wild melancholy
The tormenting sigh
The tempestuous farewell
Of autumn.
All is offered.
Heart,
Soul,
And mind.
No leaves to hide,
No flowers to garnish,
No shelter to shield,
From your gaze.
Only me.
Now you know,
Where to find her den.
Where to find her lair.
Where to find her hideout.
You knock, you knock.
You call, you call.
You ask, you ask.
Too often.
I slam the door shut.
I lock the door shut.
I bolt the door shut.
and I escape from the window.
And I roam.
And I howl.
And I roll.
In magical hills you cannot reach.
In a forsaken land you cannot imagine.
In a hidden world you cannot grasp.
Free, at last.
Free, at will.
Free, for now.
Will you?
Will you be there when I return?
To hear my words.
To heal my world.
To head my words.
Perhaps one day,
You will come to
Smile to me,
Hold me,
Carry me.
To another land
That neither of us know of.
That neither of us dream of.
That neither of us know the way to.
The path is hidden.
For mere mortals,
For mere lonely creatures,
For mere cowardly children.
Only blessed lovers know this way.
Wait.
Breathe.
Not too late,
Not too soon,
Lest I run,
Lest I hide.
Be calm,
Be strong,
Be soft,
Our hearts already know the way.
If this is true.
If this for us
If this is written.
Don’t leave,
Don’t stay.
Don’t.
Let it be.
Let it rain.
Let it trickle.
And look up to that silver glimmer of hope.
My hearth is a campfire.
Never here,
Never there,
Always returning.
My love is in absence.
Never here,
Never there,
Always returning.
My home is an embrace,
Never here,
Never there,
Always returning.
Time always trickles,
Friends always trickle,
Dreams always trickle.
Droplets into
Rivulets into
Streams into
A sea of feelings,
An ocean of memories
A universe of faces.
I belong to the ever changing dunes.
I belong to the ever changing slopes.
I belong to the ever changing shores.
Your footsteps fading into the sands.
Your silhouette fading into the snow.
Your shoulders drowning in the water.
Here yesterday,
Gone today.
And tomorrow?
And next week?
And every year?
Will you return?
With one spark,
With one glance,
With one word,
Will you return?
Or will I build palaces
With words and paints?
Or will I weave stories
With dreams and words?
Or will carve songs
With anguish and longing.?
Carve it so deeply
In wood,
In marble,
In the ground.
If only I could reach the night sky.
If only I could reach the milky way
If only I could reach the universe.
I would leave a trail of
Petals
Feathers
And buds.
For you to find with your gaze.
For you to follow with your heart.
For you to grasp with your soul.
To light your way back home.
Under a shower of golden leaves,
Under a trail of sweet raindrops,
Under a haze of amber glow,
Will you return?
There’s no point in living in that palace full of roses and birds
There’s no point in living in that far off land between here and there.
There’s no point in living in dreams that keep on slipping through my fingers.
This is what I keep on writing.
Yet in the velvety rain,
Yet in the cottony mist,
Yet in the embroidered forest,
I lose my way.
Waves, waves.
Wind in my hair.
Wind, wind,
Waves at my feet.
Waves,
Layers,
Eons.
Does time still exist?
If I were contained
Within brick walls
Within ciment cities
Within uranium bars,
I could forget this dream.
My eyes on the prize,
My hands never idle.
My mind never my own.
Belonging
Mind & body,
Hands and feet,
Heart & soul,
To what can only be seen.
To what can only be held.
To what can only be contained.
But I am free.
One of those birds that can never stay,
But always comes back.
Dew on my skin,
Salt on my lips,
Glimmer in my eyes.
I can see beyond
Their walls
Their cages
Their bars.
Can’t you?
No you cannot.
You cannot see the palace of the birds.
You canot see the primordial promise.
You cannot see the birth of our love.
You were there,
But you are gone now.
Oh but I saw it…
Feathers,
Glimmer,
and softness
Your soul.
I noticed you.
I recognized you.
I beckoned you.
And you ran.
Leaving me to my
Palace of roses and birds
Cabin by the river and woods,
Dream of the past and the future.
I tend my fire.
I weave my life.
I light my night.
And you keep on running.
Come home,
The birds are holding their last conference.
Come back.
Come home,
The leaves are covering the green grass.
Come back.
Come home,
The squirrels are dashing to find nuts for the winter.
Come back.
The sky is growing darker and darker.
The nights are growing colder and colder.
The foliage is growing sparser and sparser.
I am gathering woods and dried leaves.
I am gathering thyme and rosemary
I am gathering scattered petals and the last daisies.
The hearth is glowing red and gold.
The hearth is blazing desperately.
The hearth is incensing the house.
Myrrhe
Rosemary
and Thyme.
Beaconing,
Beckoning,
Beguiling,
The wandering healer,
The crownless knight,
The forgotten king.
Forgotten by all.
Derided by all.
Condemned by all,
But me.
In the raucous clamor,
In the blinding storm,
In the tumbling wind,
Can he ever find his way back ?
To walls that can shelter him.
To a warmth that can revive him.
To a heart that can nurture him.
The way into the woods is treacherous.
Treacherous are the illusions drowning us.
Drowning, drowning until we rise again.
The forest at the heart of autumn is
Teaming with life,
Spurting with mystery,
Luring with delicate secrets.
The lace of a leaf banqueted by the invisible creatures.
The discarded feather tethered to the bark and the spiderweb.
The last bird sharing a farewell tale and a promise to return.
Listen,
Watch,
Understand.
But do not lose your way.
In the winter,
The woods are full of wolves.
In the winter,
The river is full of ice.
In the winter,
The earth is full of thick snow.
Come home,
Before it’s too cold.
Come home,
Before it’s too late.
Come home,
Before it’s too far.
But the world keeps on drifting away.
But the world keeps on fading into the past.
But the world keep on growing colder.
And it’s too late…
Yet, I will keep on feeding my fire.
Yet, I will keep on burning my encens.
Yet, I will keep on singing my prayers.
For your journey,
For your safekeeping,
For your return,
Into my welcoming arms.
Into my welcoming heart.
Into my welcoming hearth.
My love.
And the healing of all the hurts you carry.
It was sweet,
It was soft,
It was subtle,
Like scattered petals,
Like forgotten feathers,
Like dewy leaves,
Under my bare feet.
Under my bold fingers.
Under my burnt lips.
So soothing
So welcoming
So mesmerizing
Like the zephyr in the chimes
Like the sunset through the foliage
Like the trickle before the rivulet.
Flow,
glow
and whirl.
It’s almost like a bedtime story.
It’s almost like a lullaby.
It’s almost like a farewell….
Unspoken.
Unbidden.
Unsent.
Before you leave,
Hold me.
Lull me.
Breathe me.
Before you leave.
Let me take your hand.
Hold your neck.
And whirl.
Hush,
Hold my waist,
And whirl.
No promises.
No words.
No sighs.
Just that soundless music.
Your heart
My heart
And all that could have been.
Thank you.
For the new melody,
For the new stories
For the new moon.
A fresh gust of wind.
A fresh peal of laughter.
And a new step in my dance.
No tears,
No tearing,
No pleading.
No touching,
No speaking,
No hoping.
I told you love,
We don’t belong to each other.
The mountains keep on rising between us.
The sea keeps on roaring between us.
The desert keeps on stretching between us.
And the wind,
Pulls me off that summit.
And the wind,
Pulls me out of those waves.
And the wind,
Pulls me out of this mirage.
And back to my stone tower.
And back to my winding stairs.
And back to my library of memories.
Where I belong.
They ask me about what I write.
I sigh
I shrug.
and I lie.
If I told them the truth
Their eyes would be full of pity.
Their mouths will be full of contempt.
Their forehead will be full of incomprehension.
Truth is,
I don’t understand it either.
There’s a voice in the breeze,
There’s silhouette in the woods
There’s a name on the wall.
Always the same.
Some write,
Love is a mental affliction.
Love is a learned behavior.
Love is a comforting habit.
Flat
Empty
Sterile.
What is love?
A plot for an otherwise boring novel?
A ploy to sell more chocolates and roses?
A gimmick to give meaning to commercial songs?
Is it something I made up,
To make my sunset glow?
Is it something I dreamt up,
To make my morning melodious?
Is it something I twisted up,
To make my nights magical?
Ungraspable,
Unreachable,
Unbearable,
Especially since you remain unseen.
Where?
How?
Why?
Madness.
Foolishness.
Childishness.
Let me write a theory about this disorienting wave.
Let me analyzes this delicious polarity.
Let me write a poem about this sinking elation.
Good Lord, girl, don’t be silly.
They ask me about what I write.
I sigh.
I shrug.
And I smile…
Love,
I always write about love.
The hearth is glowing
The water is boiling
The cat is purring.
Are you ready to come back home?
Some said the war is over.
Others wrote the war is just starting.
All sighed and trembled.
Where are you now dear?
I can’t touch you.
I cant reach you.
I can’t breathe you.
I ask for a dream so that I can
Embrace you.
Hold you.
Keep you safe.
But no dreams come anymore.
You are truly lost in the mist.
You are truly engulfed in the sea.
You are truly burred within yourself.
You pulled up your boots.
You pulled down your shirt.
And you closed the door.
Where, where are you?
How, how are you?
When, when will you return?
The wind follows your gait.
The tempest covers your footsteps.
The rain puddle up your path.
You cannot be found.
You will not be found.
As I close the door,
Pour the tea,
and stoke up the fire,
I remind myself :
You’re the one who left.
You’re the one who choose to leave.
You’re the one who chose to never speak of it.
I’m the one who chose
To keep the light on.
To keep the songs up.
To keep the fire…
Until you return.
No promises,
You always keep your promises.
No letter,
You never write back.
No sign of life,
You never come back.
And yet,
The breeze in the golden foliage,
The yellow tit on the branch,
The squirrel by the pond,
told me you will.
And I believe,
I must believe.
Shouldn’t I… believe?
Tell me.
This is a true dream,
This is a true promise,
This is a true hope,
Isn’t it true?
They ask me about what I write.
I sigh.
I shrug.
And I smile…
Love,
I always write about love. 
Layla Ali Sultan 