One day, you’ll know

Published: April 30, 2017

He watches the dust settle on the cold bed, the grey waves of light enter from the window, a burden, making him regret his existence. PHOTO: PENNHURST MEMORIAL AND PRESERVATION ALLIANCE

The black wheelchair rolls on the newly swept marble floor, clean as a mirror, reflecting all the dreams that died away,
He sits by the caged window, watching the shadows lengthen as his children grow,
A fragile grey hand moves with the wind, uncontrollable, making the sacred last letter impossible,
He watches the dust settle on the cold bed, the grey waves of light enter from the window, a burden, making him regret his existence

The seed of love, planted with the youth of his hands into the ground of birth, now matured; a shadow, an image, invisible,
Blue and cuffed, the eyes, a war zone, soldiers battling against the inevitable tide ready to perish their lost souls,
The battleground now, memoriam to battling the bullets fired within oneself, the only sanity preserved by a torn, dark polaroid of his wife and the young children,
He lifts the wooden typewriter, a requiem, gifted on his father’s deathbed to pass on,

Lighting his last cigarette, he cleans his typewriter with the same hands that planted the seed, held them when they cried,
The same hands that fed the ghosts, that fell short of strength when the shadows lengthened, that waved but never saw them, that now wiped the tears from the typewriter.

The rope tightens, the wooden board creaks, the chair falls and the page reads,

“One day, you’ll know.”

“One day.”

Afnan Durrani

Afnan Durrani

The author is currently doing his A-Levels from Cedar College. His interests include poetry, economics, basketball and alot of Indie music.

The views expressed by the writer and the reader comments do not necessarily reflect the views and policies of The Express Tribune.