When the glowing ember gets too close,
the body moves naturally,
to the rhythm,
of a memory,
of a thousand previous encounters.
And away it will go,
And away it will go,
a million feet into the air,
a friend and a foe,
a friend and a foe,
as thousands before it,
when it has nothing left to give.
Another box still on the table,
and another fool born every minute.
By Azhar ZA.
12th Feb 2010.
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Assalamualaikum,
This was a poem(?) I wrote in my old blog. I think it's fairly obvious to most what it's about, but to me back when I wrote it, it was a double entendre (it still is, but it was too). My mum says I should write more often, polish my writing skills so that someday when I'm bored of being a doctor, I can stay at home and write a newspaper column, be a journalist or translate books, anything that has to do with language skills.
I'm still thinking about it.
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And when I see you,
I really see you upside down,
But my brain knows better.
It picks you up and turns you around,
Turns you around, turns you around.
I need to stop. I have to.