149

Under the Tuscan Sun // Afia Qamar

I sprinkled sunflower petals in the warm water,

to make it gold.

Then dipped my body quietly in the bathtub,

to wash my tainted soul.

The morning light peeked through the lemon colored grass,

while the fading fate dissolved in the pearly waves of my lash.

My lifted hand reached for the sunlight,

the feeble fingers swayed like dandelions.

A swollen gaze perched on the broken mirror,

a burning sensation impregnated my chafed lips; turning them bitter.

The beauty they preach about is not divine,

nothing in this world remains stays sublime.

The saffron tinted ancient walls,

kissed the amber tiled floor.

Everything fire; everything gold,

yet no power can assuage the murkiness of my soul.

My dear Van Gogh how could you think,

that the yellow, if you eat, will lift your spirits?      

Under the Tuscan Sun // Afia Qamar


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