I want to write a poem about the moon
In all her glowy glory
I want to talk about the sun
without calling it a ball or a disc that fries my eyes
I want to describe green growing things
and breezes fluttering through wind chimes
I want you to taste the bitterness on my tongue
And picture each frown upon my character's face
but this page is blank as my stilled hand
and once I can face and discard its white lie
I realise I'm not that kind of author
I couldn't smooth talk my way to a free drink if I tried
I'd just stand there and smile because the moment I open my mouth
you'd run from my tirades and discussions of death
and god and my appalling lack of manners
but what good is 'how are you?' when you answer in monosyllables
when I want thunderstorms
I want to feel your passion, understand your ire
break down the walls you built for a reason I can't yet discern
but until you're willing to let down your gate
I can either stand there and smile
or whip out my ineloquence
and hope you stick along for the ride.
© Zaynab Asmal
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Matriculant 2013
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