Wills by Zaara Haroon
A teak wood door in my sight
Ancient, protected, sturdy and wise
Reminding me of the dark coffee I had an evening before
Sitting in the darkness, and relishing its aroma.
A handle of brass I felt with my fingers,
The knob beneath it with the other hand,
I turned it over in a child’s malice: Playful, unintended and wild.
A smile of excitement when I gazed at the adventure inside.
The risk involved and the adulthood inspired,
The child lurched forward
To take a look of its inheritance.
It was an adventure park without the rides
It was a dream without an aim
It was a place to open your arms and fly like an airplane.
A park of release…or an escapist if I say,
There was water falling over smoke
And I called it the forest of rain.
I was somewhere up in the clouds I thought…
With music and birds below my feet
But as I kept flying, I saw my legs in a frenzy of carrying me across.
It was a forest of rain with smoke at its floor.
There was something warm beneath my feet,
Something burning underneath.
With a tinge of coffee at my tongue
My head forgot what it used to be like.
Just to have an idea of how it would feel
I touched and smelt my fingers.
Guess what I found? It was smelling of the smoke which was on the ground.
Prone to hallucinations as I am,
I thought I was on the inside.
A child face to face with what it had inherited.
The gift of Halloween
Face to face with its own will.
A little anxious of what was to happen
I landed on the ground of the forest of rain
With smoke at its floor.
I stepped on a snake…
My tongue between my teeth and my eyes in a vague stare
I felt the snake uncoil and slither away.
It thought I had won the game! …a child beat a snake.
A step further and the fear retaliates:
What if there is something more poisonous than the adder lying in my way?
My will is all smoked, my visibility is blurred,
My nose twitching;
And my voice unheard.
I am within me, with the wills in my hand
Apprehensive of what I may encounter
The next time I stand.
The forest of rain has a fire beneath it
A fire which smokes, pale black and grey,
The fire of pleasure, the fire of sin.
The fire which made me burn all the times which deserved a close-up…
Times to be fast forwarded and those to be re-lived.
Beneath the floor in the forest of rain is a fire
The fire of wills.
My will burning to the smoky floor inside me;
Papers and wills in my hand.
I feel warm each time I sit in the sun,
Gloriously in the sunshine
Cleaning myself off all wrongs
Denying myself all the comforts.
I wish I could burn through,
I wish I could burn the will which resides inside.
Those wills are the foremost things in my world
Where it rains all the time.
Each breath enkindles it
Each sigh shows it up in flames.
My inheritance is all what I have.
My inheritance is all what I lack.
I saw my will in the mirror on the wall.
My genes- my blood…the fairest of all.
I also see a will in my hand-
The inheritance- the one which is mine.
In my blood is a trait.
The trait to burn it all.
To burn in rebellion…to burn in pessimism.
To burn it up in a smoke of change.
If it comes…its my good luck.
If not, it’s the will again.
I inherited the will and I wish to burn it all.
My greatest strength is to come at terms with my weakness-
My greatest weakness is to morph my vulnerabilities into one.
I am in the forest of rain,
Burning with those wills in my hand
And now in my head…
How I wish to burn it all…How I wish to burn it all…