I wish I could lead you back to the weaving tracks,
we carved in our youth
the white mare we rode together,
I cupped hands and heaved you up
picked the mushrooms,
and above all, the dreams we shared.
Listen: those dreams are heavier now,
I can't carry them by myself.
I wonder if you’d remember, the way I do,
The dreams you helped create.
Remember that one dream?
The one kissing in the moonlight?
Last night, the moon and I wept for that.
Our dreams have become so old,
and don’t let me sleep
my heart cramps when I weep for our dreams.
I touch them alive again!
You told me you would hear my cries at night.
Would you now listen to the creak of my bones
as they protest every bend?
People say I’m old-
the mirror sees not wrinkles on my face,
caused by the weight of long, aged dreams
that drag me to my knees.
Do they not still call to you?
They seek you in dark alleys.
Come back and take your dreams,
I can’t carry them alone.
About the Creator
Muhammad Nasrullah Khan
Muhammad Nasrullah Khan is a Pakistani-Canadian writer. His short stories are well-recognized internationally , His work has appeared in Adbusters, Evergreen review, Indiana Voice Journal, Newtopia Magazine, and many others.
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Heartfelt and relatable
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Compelling and original writing
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Comments (1)
This is a beautiful prose story. I related to every word