So here I am in the middle way
still grappling with the void,
as fresh as spring flowers,
as jaded as autumn leaves
of what belonged to you
of us –
now misted in time.
Your presence –
confident and affirmative
that sparked a thousand flames and turns
of joy and wonder,
now inhabits
the sightless recesses
of my mind
and distant space –
a chimera
of half formed images and sounds,
lost in abstracted pain and longing.
Tell me where
do I begin to grieve …
for what is left of me
that belonged to you,
stolen by a pitiless fate.
© Qasim Ijaz 2017. Reproduced with permission.
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