By Sania Khatun
October 31
Everything's slow ,
successively slower.
The mornings , the noons,
particularly the nights
rhyming to celling fan's speed,
as winter approaches.
It's 9:39 am on the clock
weird , how it implies
there's yet
thirty mins (approx) to be 10.
October morning,
There's yet 2 months
for the year to roll , or is it ?
Here I sit on the floor
where the two walls meet
namely corner , yes
Frizzy hair , chapped lips ,
chipped nailpolish and all.
Classical jazz blasting in my ears
and paired with it , the sensation
of my eyelids
becoming double it's weight,
Making it impossible to-
hold them up.
Tangled thoughts in my brain,
perhaps too many to pull one
by the string like a kite,
before it's lost again.
THE CORNER , I'm resting against
makes the room , a room.
Likewise
I'm nineteen , the particular age
that joins adulthood & teenage.
And is that what defines me?
Too young to be taking
independent decisions,
too old to be forgiven
for incorrect choice of path.
There's war and comfort ,
uncertainty and relief .
Nestling in me like a whirlpool ,
changing it's spin every minute
throwing me off balance ,
Consuming me in unknown
Unfamiliar depths.
So, as an act of revolution
I gather the strength to get up
and pick up a lipstick -
Slut red.
I paint my lips until
It reaches the color of blood,
and throw my hands out in the air
my hips now rhyming to the notes
of jazz rather than the speed of fan.
All the adrenaline,
rushing through my veins.
A perfect celebration of my girlhood.
Perhaps,
I'll never be nineteen again ,
Or this October morning
Will never be mine again.
Today, is all I have,
today, is all I'll ever have.
Thrilling ? yes!
Devastating ? absolutely!
but
BEAUTIFUL.