If I were a love poem
by Sheikha A.

If I were a love poem, I’d fall out
of skins. You would look at the red
autumn light and think of blood
that turned blue from being swept
by the beauty of a cold hour that
stroked fire from wet embers. I have
gazed keenly at your fantasies
and found nothing but non-utopian
realities about clean knees and elbows.
Look at me from truth, away from
a photo, find verses of dimensional tones
that will tell you of care that never
journeyed those oceans. If I were
a page of multiple sketches, you’d see
me break through the lines
without a trace
on how to put me back together.

But, if I were a poem, I would fall
like the droop of your eyes that aged
from learning how to finally recite me
from memory.

IMAGE: “The Muse Erato at her Lyre” by John William Godward.

NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR: There just have to be other ways to exist! That was my mode of thought as I shaped the poem. The idea hit me one night about being a poem and how wonderful it would be to exist between pages that would get printed into millions of copies and be distributed in places I’d never get to physically visit, yet boast about having travelled — even if in spirit (of words). Also the best way to exist on people’s lips, in their minds, in their constantly evolving thoughts, in their memory like rote text — in their breathing, in their bones…!

ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Sheikha A. is from Pakistan and United Arab Emirates. Her work appears in over 80 literary venues so far, including several anthologies by different presses. She edits poetry for eFiction India. More about her can be accessed on her blog