Father
said it was a lake
that formed into a tear –
drop when the White Giant saw
the Fairy Queen, bathing in Ansoo
with the Prince. I found it romantic. I find this
romantic too, hiking in the moonlight, hands grasped
tight, blood dripping down my leg- Grazed by the crops I
helped my mother plant. Running through corn, our hometown
disappears from view. I see our reflections in Ansoo. I am
the fairy, you are my prince. They are the giants. They are
jealous of our ecstasy. Breaths quicken and our hair is matted
by the rain. It is the start of monsoon. This memory will last in
my mind forever. How we were in love. How we ran away,
and how I looked back, wet, tired and breathless
And saw my honour, my izzat, reflected
in tear drops from your
eyes.
Aqsa Shaheen Ahmed is a third year English student at King’s College, London
Image: Serpentrouge.co
I RISE 