- Vol. 07
- Chapter 04
By the Vale of Distances
In the newer decade, winter rain fills the coloured
streets. I’m home, away from you; I’m not with you,
your home isn’t mine yet. Somebody
has (secretly!) sent me your photograph: standing,
in your father’s shoes, uncomfortably, as if tired of
waiting; a plastic bag in the left hand of your reflection
reads three illegible letters (inverted, of course) –
yes, yet, new, raw, aim or air, and for a while
none of the letters might mean anything
but (our) distance. In the cold silence of my room
a song plays softly – I’ve used four letters to name you,
with love – and I think of you:
my fingers, running, over your light headscarf, resting
with an embrace of a gentle part of your left cheek.
I pick my phone up, add this photograph in our chat-
box and (agitatedly) caption it: I miss you.
You’re busy; I’m yet to hear from you. I’ll wait.
for Abeer Ahmad