THEATRE ON THE WINDOW LEDGEA Poem by SHEEMA HUQA Prose PoemTheatre, somehow survived on the window ledge, while madam felt utterly wrecked, pigeons ambled along rooftops without a care, young man dragged on a roll up while staring at a pile of wet towels on a chair, as elderly man remained unable to conceal his anxieties, perpetually on edge. All this began with, 2 apples, 1 fig, 3 pears, a bookmark from downstairs, cups of plastic and polystyrene, half or two thirds empty, cold instant coffee, filtered water, a pen from Barclays, Bank, by the orchids in a crystal vase, by the green rizzler papers, by the frustrated gaps in between all the items mentioned, by the patient's health priorities, agonized thoughts and good deeds, mediocre efforts above the radiator; drawn on, eyes, nose and lips, detailing as much as one can; chin, ears, eyebrows, fringe and so on, until one creates a cup-faced madam, a young and elderly man, pear-heads are quite heavy, though punching holes through their eyes, to make them blind, nostrils to breath, mouths to talk, to moan, to make humoured drones, to scream, to come alive, to falter on a brief resume of adlibs on vaguely remembered lines. Theatre, however, kind of survived on the window ledge. © 2013 SHEEMA HUQAuthor's Note
Featured Review
Reviews
|
StatsAuthorSHEEMA HUQLONDON , ENGLAND, United KingdomAboutI am SHEEMA A LONDON BASED POET THANKS FOR READING! more..Writing
Related WritingPeople who liked this story also liked..
|