On quiet nights,
when the wind whispers
in my ear
like pages that flutter
and throw dust
in the air
Oh, I feel ancient
An old woman in a young woman’s body,
old and sometimes,
these are so beautiful to read…
especially ‘when the wind whispers’..
and ‘i sigh like pages that flutter..’
and the way that these words as beads are felt and strung together on one tasbeeh..
the soul’s struggle.
like hope and innocence are too much effort
i think it means we are realising that we are revolving slowly towards death
which we are
please excuse the morbidity. Death has come to visit