Somewhere inside the deep beyond
Sits my life-sized, pint-sized sparrow home.
There, lives my quiet, burned and scorned
And words of sanctum flow unatoned.
Amidst the turgid stumps of trees,
The path is darker farther in.
Vision swarmed with corpses that bleed
And deafened by what lives therein.
Skies darken with a holy smoke
That seeps into my nose and lungs.
My sparrow home now wears a cloak
Coaxing me close in foreign tongues.
I want to hear its muffled words
And speak to all the folk that lurk.
But sound, it leaks of screeching birds
And echoes from the nearest cirque.
So far I am, from what could be mine
Yet there it stands, a perfect crime.
Frayed are my feet, twisted, my spine.
The forest having stripped my prime.
I wear away yet still I roam,
In search of empty promises
Brewed and grown from there within
My narrow, sparrow, little home.
Syeda Erum Noor is dangerously oblivious and has no sense of time. Send help at email@example.com