These are just fragments of my life and thoughts. I love to write non-fiction essays, poetry and prose. My work is based on contemporary literature. I'm specially interested in children's literature with innuendos that are aimed at adults.
A piece of chocolate to hide who you are, as you melt between my upper palate and tongue. Like a blindfolded connoisseur, I'll nibble and identify your taste in a second. Just that simple. A recipe of love: eye contacts and no words. This sugar high, I crave such a dis-ease. Keeping it low since years this dark-kept cacao secret that must now be revealed. -- Afshan Amin Mohammad
The meat I've gained is more of me to love now. I'm the wildflower that has just blossomed, the butterfly with wings wide open, the full moon that illuminates beneath the dark shadows, the aged whiskey that you sip slowly, the deeply rooted tree that has taken years to provide you shade. Come love me, all of me.
The Other Side
Walking down the street, my hand in my pocket. It's better this way. Alone. Unlike the half-hearted hand-holding you offered. A simpleton could reason, this was not love’s path. Yet I walked on with conviction, and you doubted me in silence. Each time our hands clasped together, they drifted apart in the midst of c r o s s i n g the road. I would wave to you on the other side. Go on, this time I have decided to stay back
An ardent prayer in a crowdedspace. A thousand gaping mouths that judge and blame. But tonight, my heart is not the same. Hear my silent words, in the deafening echo of yearning. They dissected my words, but he recognized my drunken spirit. We exchanged glances and walked outside the door. At a crossroad of l l u o & g s i t c What is the difference between a stoup and chalice? A concoction that we dissolved and drank. My thoughts gave birth to a perception. A furrow, a tear, a smile. It was a face, Our soul.
Today, he taught me the science behind why love is a verb. This was without haste, This was without inhibitions. This was tender, like a healer's hand. This was a need for my survival. A practice test, a viva, a demonstration of the dissection, a prerequisite for labelling the diagram. He handed me the flower, looking straight into my eyes. It used to be a bud, that blossomed into a prunus persica, peachtree flower. Its nectar, so sweet. I felt the petals, with my fingertips, a gentle rub, caressing its softness against my cheek. This is the stamen, the pollen sac. These are the masculine features of the flower. To distract him from the lesson, I began to peel the petals: “He loves me, He loves me, knot.” He quickly pinpointed, That is you. This is the ovary, the most treasured part, that bears the fruit. How the garden outside the window, turned the barren land into fertile soil. Just us two are enough. Within us, the philosophy of botany. Try the peach, Sink your teeth into the flesh, now suck the nectar. I gazed at the wonder of how simple the act is and yet amazed at the signs for those who contemplate.
If this mirror could reflect the deep-seated scars in our withered souls, we’d understand why do these emotions always manifest in tears, whether we cry or laugh the hardest. Afshan Amin Mohammad
She was intimidated by him but he also made her heart flutter every time he caught her looking at him. She fell for his courage and sincerity, and even if the world didn't believe him, she wanted him, she loved him for what he was, and that was all there was to it. -- Afshan A. Mohammad
A chemical element, in the periodic table, that I know of. Its symbol, your initial, in a chain around my neck. Within each of its atoms, I, a negative electron, orbit around you, a positive proton. An electric force just before being kissed, a pull between the the two opposite charges. There's no shame, this is attraction, the very chemistry of human nature. Afshan A. Mohammad
Dear Thoughts, I slowly sip on insanity while they try to make sense of it from afar. My darkest secrets have been the topic of their conversations. “The best lack all conviction, while the worst are full of passionate intensity.” Thoughts, Im giving you a form, materializing you into a language a flavour to be tasted, a voice to be heard, immortalizing you as I write. Let them judge as they try to read between the lines, You are a distorted gift from a multitude of neurons firing in my brain. Why do you only make sense to them once you're tangible, quite a shame to human existence. From, Glitter to Ashes to Dust Afshan A. Mohammad Reference: William Butler Yeats
All poems are copyright of the originating author. Permission must be obtained before using or performing others' poems.
- 2022 (3)
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