closets are no place for secrets

by Orooj-e-Zafar

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let us repent now, my love,
the homeless man
down the street told me
that the end was near and you know,
one of these days,
it will be.
and i can't stand the thought of us
being vanquished
in the anguish of fires of a
in hell
like our mothers and their mothers
and their mothers said.

we didn't have any time to
arrive --
only just enough to know
that the end is only near
out of spite
and i know it isn't fair, hush now,
i know it isn't fair.
remember when i told you
that my finger tips were painted
each dissected color
of the rainbow
and my parents didn't find it
till they walked in on me
between her legs?

she died that day, remember?
and the worst part was not
hearing her screams when my father beat
her for being a cheater
and defying nature as if she was
the only one responsible
for the balance,
but the part where i didn't leave
when she did.

darling, i didn't meet my end
because i still had to find
your rainbow-tattooed finger tips
tapping table two
in a deserted coffee shop.
we met so poetically,
kissed so intensely,
loved so relentlessly,
broke apart so endearingly,
reunited so quickly
that by this end,
we don't have it in us,
to give up so easily.

maybe hell won't be
as bad as they said.
they say heaven's where all
the boring people are --
the ones who never dreamt
or tread on thin lines,
who lied by telling the truth
and defied nothing but the
voice inside themselves.
no, don't you pick
at your colorful hands,
i understand how ashamed
you've been made to feel
about all the grand things about you.

there is so much truth
in the words we never wrote
the day we left our
ignorant end of the road;
we left remember? without
our goodbyes. that
was the end once; sleeping
in a rundown Mustang we stole
from your brother's house,
afraid of waking up to the sound
of a dyke-hungry crowd
"needin' some straightening",
but love, i still woke up
to your creamy skin at the brush
of my lips.
"we made it," i had whispered
and you opened your eyes.
"we fucking made it,"
you smiled and sighed.

so hush. hush now,
the world is packing all its things
in a rush now. we've become so static
because we stopped listening,
the homeless man said
that someday they would all


that's the sound of my fingers
entangling in yours;
the air's never been quiet enough
for you to hear,
your soul has never been tired enough
to notice;
with hell in the air,
the heat kissing your already
fiery hair, i'm afraid to wake you up,
to slide my lips under your earlobe
and whisper,
"we made it, love,
we fucking made it."


released August 12, 2013
song in the background: Truth by Balmorhea
(no copyright infringement intended)




Orooj-e-Zafar Islamabad, Pakistan

I love stories and pouring meaning into everything humans do.

learning to be softer since '96.

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