Flick it When You're Done.

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,

a million feet into the air,
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.