On the canvas

Dreams are like
white clouds spread against
the blue skies of my thought.
The rain drops fall
making me recall,
the typical smell of a
newly furnished room
and of flowers in half bloom
in the dim light
of your lies,
sitting crossed legged,
you begged.
If only I could forget and forgive
and your dreams live.
I enigmatically weighed,
the sorrows
you had given me,
and without looking
in your eyes,
I knew something would die
in you and me.


Copyright 2004-2005 by Asma Karim Mirza.
All rights reserved.
Reproduced by Poetry 360 with permission of the author.