Ink in the Sky

Islam Nashrif

In the sky downcast by stifled doubts that haunt,

A vicenarian, a woman, she doth roam,

Conscience heavy, guilt about a daunting font,

Through solitude, she hunts for an idyllic home.

She yearns to abscond the snarled web of lies,

The cloak of fixation wraps around tight,

In search of succor, past a mother lark’s cries,

She dreams of waning into the sleepless night.

 

To a bemused land where illicit tinctures blend,

Art and literature in harmony embrace,

She longs to wander, worlds unmapped,

Transcend in an erudite expansive space.

Pen in hand, her mind ignites with fervor,

As a memoir is compiled, words embossed in coal,

A tale of tolerance, a shattered heart’s parkour

Marks a legacy to make her untamed spirit whole.

 

Atop bygone soils, she aches to take her flight,

And breathe in the musk where exotic spores disperse,

To absorb their philosophies day and night,

And tune in when their agony and blessings converse.

Yet, in her heart, a bottomless melody yearns:

Leaving a legacy, a mark profound,

That can grow out of rubble as the old world turns;

A song to awaken those lost and earthbound.

 

When will it come…

…Her magnum opus that time can never erase,

A message grand, a beacon’s endless glow,

Ushering wandering souls towards nature’s grace,

And construe what sages, in the fullness of time know?