It's the peak of summer's smouldering reign. See, the balcony door is are ajar.
See, there’s Zaytoun, eyes locked in an unyielding stare on a rock dove (stock dove?)
perched precariously upon the railing. Poised as if she might one day leap
from the edge in a kamikaze plummet, believing she could catch one in mid-flight.
See, my heart is aching with some nameless melancholy. See?
Alright. I had to look up what differentiates a pigeon from a dove, and it's the language. Pigeon is french, dove is English. (In German everything is Taube.) But beyond that, is the one in my line of sight right now based out of India the Columba livia domestica or...a stock dove? By the way, pigeons according to Wikipedia are pests — invasive. Disseminated cryptococcus and meningitis due to inhalation of fungal spores from pigeon droppings is a thing. Real. Makes me wonder why there are no efforts at extermination of sorts, not that I support but-
Also, pigeon meat is...I wonder if it's Halal? Why do I care about Halal-ness when I have abandoned other rituals of religion? Because it's an embedded sense of purity applied to consumables? Can I extrapolate that to a principle that works for us? Is it not paradoxical to cling to this one aspect? This pursuit of purity a vestige of my upbringing, a relic of the rituals I no longer practice. Anyway. To be noted, there was one particular kind of pigeon was so popular as food that it went extinct. Enter the Passenger pigeon.
Reminds me of the time I picked up a brown "pigeon" off the street, and was surprised at how unpigeonly that one was. Obsidian eyes and wildwood feathering.
As you close your eyes
run with all your might
‘cause you're far
too late
You put it all at stake
fyi the train has long left the station
Dreaming of the days faraway
and the ocean's sparkling hue
You've been walking
through a night
I know nothing about,
haven't you? Sometimes walls
rise not to exclude, but to
test who cares enough
to intrude.
The seasons change once again
and you're struggling wondering
where you should go
Like a flower swaying
in the autumn wind
You can't
bring yourself
to tell me your goodbyes
Though I'm now by your side,
still this gap
is not closing
sore palms red from
scouring sha r p
sections
To let your heart be moved,
to laugh from the
bottom
of your heart, to find meaning
in the everyday. You w a n t e d
to be;
given permission.
s o r e palms red from scouring sharp sections
The drum solo arrives
p
a i
e n
l g
racing
beating
singing.
And then...
stopping.
The heart aches
I wish to rend time's fabric
g o s s a mer threads.
Tumble back Wake
fevered on my parents' bed
Soon I'll be home,
won't I be happier
for it?
Come. say salaam
to orchards in Ranikhet's
crisp November Hills
afire with autumn's
crescendos Muted
light mulled cider
s tea m Doves embracing
Under the falling
waltz of leaves
I f y o u d o n o t c o m e ,
t h e s e
d o
n o t
m a t t e r.
I f y o u d o c o m e ,
t h e s e
d o n o t
m a t t e r .