Sunday, November 21, 2010

Beyond the Fringe


I creep on the edges
along dust-filled lines in wallpaper,
the invisible crackles infinite chasms
I can’t cross with my little feet.
Beyond the fringe
I see the soles of your shoes,
details only visible from below.
Your voice is thunder
and sometimes I shake on the precipice
waiting to fall in,
fall up
into view.
That leap into the jagged unknown
promises an inferno
to melt the hard edges I cling to.
But I douse the flames
with icy breath and gazes
(a drop of sweat falls here, an escaped tear).
Hold myself away
from the crash,

risky descent.

On scabbed knees,
post-traumatic attempts
and last-second realizations,
I stumble
not ungratefully
back along my dusty paths,
content myself with a wistful smile.
I am safe here.


Sometimes I float past
small enough to see the dust motes in your eyes,
often as invisible.
I'll land on a strand of your hair,
and you'll move on


© Farhana Jahan

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