Train Ride

It feels as if noises accumulate
Like falling snow on shoulders jutted
Outwards with pride , inwards with
Nothing much, masks the sound
Of passersby
One face ticks over to the next
And you'll see them filling time
Filling boxes on crosswords
Reading headlines that
Few make time to do anything about
And the worst thing is
When you see eyes in thought
Quiet crawling on the skin
The lids they
Close
How strange? How ajeeb
Over the most beneficial thing
They choose sleep
Truly, did he think that he would not have to return (to Us)!
Surah Inshiqaaq

One Autumn Later

Surpassed Part II

She was a winter coat, a long scarf and boots reaching her knees under her abaya. Her gloved hands gripped an oversized folder and occasionally a thermostat filled with coffee . She was the type to stay late at the library , typing furiously, finishing biro pen after biro pen, one job to the next. She was also the type to wait until the librarian was preoccupied and climb two flights of stairs, to walk back and forth between the shelves , just to admire long forgotten books. You’d seldom know she was there at all save for the occasional dusty finger print.

It was 4:07 when she left the house that morning, an old backpack slung across her shoulders. Less thought more walk.  There was dawn not quite sprawled across city pavements and a girl walking with such determined footing you’d never guess.

A small, black stairwell opposite the park.

It didn’t take much, just the kick of a heel, her boots flung surprisingly neatly into a corner, her bag much the same, with a small chink –a bracelet she didn’t have the heart to throw away.