Archive for the ‘the 5th season’ Category

Surrounded by the heavenly light,
She ran, chasing the butterflies of dreams.
She wished to touch them.
Their coloured wings stirred her sight,
And she ran fast.
She crossed wide rivers,
Climbed up the huge mountains,
She went through the meadows.
Passed through the deserts,
Showered by the cosmic fountains,
Rising up, above and high,
At the distant corner of the universe,
Finally, she won in holding the wings of one butterfly.

At once,
While looking around and feeling my absence,
She slipped from the bend of galaxy,
And left out of her balance.
She yelled for help,
Trapped in whirl of gravity.

She screamed loud and found her dream broken.
Desperation made her eyes, wet.
Getting void of the sense of loss,
She placed hands on her breasts,
And made a cross.
Then, she covered her face to hide tears from me.
(But I was never there)

If I were there,
I would have shown her the colours imprinted on her fingers;
The colours, that she stole from the butterfly, which she went after,
The colours, which I found in her paintings and letters.
The colours, which I found in her words, whispers and laughter.

I wish I were there,
There was but an empty bed and a lonely chair.

I wish to chase the same butterfly.

(- Writer: Nay Af/Autumn Green)


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I wish I could have the power to pick blue color from the skies,
And fill in my phrases to attract the attention of your eyes.

I wish I could have the power to pluck sunset hue,
And write a beautiful poem on dew.

I wish I could have the power to dive into depth of seas,
Or steal green shade of youthful trees.

I wish I could have the power to frame beautiful words,
And by some magical spell, switch them into birds.

I wish I could have the power to wipe out your tears,
And whisper songs of happiness into your ears.

I wish I could have the power to turn back the time,
And hold your hands to stop you from part.

I wish, I wish and I only wish,
I wish I could have power to grow my love into your heart.

(- Writer: Nay Af/Autumn Green)

"Poet" by LouieLorry


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I already knew,
I won’t ever touch you.
Still, I chased your dream,
For thousand frozen nights.
To embrace the warmth of your arms,
And commence the festival of lights,

Your hands slipped from mine,
Leaving me, hollow and empty.
I ran to hold your shoulders,
And cried, “Don’t leave me, Please.”
But I fell down on my way,
And injured my knees.
Forfeited all the endeavor.
My dream broke into pieces,
And I lost my sleep – forever.

(- Writer: Nay Af/Autumn Green)

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Once, I had no faith in psychiatrists and psychologists. But when I myself visited the one, it changed my earlier opinion.

My first visit to Dr. Ghazala in the year 2000 was a unique experience. She gave me a white sheet of paper and instructed me to draw a ‘home’ on it. Holding the pen in my hands, I wondered where to start from. At once, an idea struck my mind and I drew a few lines visualizing someone’s home in my neighborhood, where ‘some one’ important for me used to reside. After it, the kind doctor asked me to draw a tree as well. I followed it too and then handed over that page to her with a dumb face.

She looked at it, smiled and asked, “Nay! Tell me whose home you sketched?”

“It’s just an imaginary home for me”, I replied.

“Why it’s not the real one?”, was her next question.

“Because I couldn’t step in”, I replied.

“You have drawn windows there, but all of them are closed. Why?” she insisted.

“Because the person behind these windows fears to open them for me”, I replied.

“You haven’t even drawn any door”, she remarked.

“There’s no need to draw any door when I know I wouldn’t be allowed to enter”, was my reply.

She looked at me and whispered, “You have drawn the tree with long branches and leaves; I wonder why you haven’t drawn its roots, too. Don’t you know such big trees need strong roots to stand firmly?”

I remained silent.

Then she narrated her analysis: “That tree is imagery of your own persona. Not drawing roots show that you feel yourself a fragile one. The home you drew is the indicant of the mental asylum. Showing no door means you consider yourself insecure and seek refuge in solitude. These closed windows are the sign of desperation and anxiety.”

Then Dr. Ghazala advised me, “You have to open the window. Once you succeeded in doing that, you will also find some door opened for you, and then your tree would stand firmly, with stronger roots.”

Well, after 7.5 years to my first visit, finally I wish to open those closed windows. Unfortunately, the door is yet closed for me and my roots are getting weaker day by day.

(- Writer: Nay Af/Autumn GreenWritten in October, 2008)


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Every time, when I look at the window,
Across the stretched curtains of solitude,
Your face gleams.
And I wish to hold your hand,
And dance in the dream land.

Meet me under the old oak tree,
While you sleep tonight.
We will sit for hours,
(Revelling the rain of flowers)
And would listen the resonation of each other’s lips.
I can imagine how your voice sounds;
Delicate, shy, and gentle.
Like the soft wind that your words bring into my soul;
Touching, caring, and sentimental.

You hid your hands behind your back,
Like they can’t impress my soul.
They are thin, clumsy and black,
Don’t be sad.
Get them out,
And look at the lines.
Can they tell the future,
By showing glossy signs?
Or are they just a reminder of the past,
Of years of waiting for the joy?
(That we promised ourselves?)
Decades ago,
When I was young girl, and you were boy.

(- Writer: Nay Af/Autumn Green)

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