Sunday

Sunday came,

and with it rose a slow, bright sun.

Dragging rays of exhaustion over cities,

over houses, over beds,

and over her.

And she awoke with heavy-hearted fatigue

that kept her body still,

but her mind in a frenzy of thoughts

and regrets.

Her eyes were wet and red

and her head pounded with a rhythm

of having slept fitfully.

Nightmarish beings wrapped their cold,

bony fingers around her heart

and squeezed.

Crushed it, stabbed it with the thorny past

that’s come back to haunt her.

She rubs her hands together,

and remembers the way you held them

You didn’t know

And she didn’t tell you,

but when you held them,

You were keeping the nightmares away.

You were holding all of her together,

and you kept the darkness at bay,

By the grace of Allah, the Beneficent, the Merciful,

you were the brightest star in her darkest sky.

Nesha Usmani

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