Monday, July 22, 2013

The Scarf

Behind her long usual counter

She sat immersed in her well-ordered loaves,

As brown as her face,

Well-baked like her fate.

She caressed her head twice

And felt her white silk scarf

Tightly and firmly tied.

It was there,

For long it had been there,

The white silk scarf!

The white silk scarf!

Meant a bait for a man,

A mesh of snow on a peak of a mountain.

But what a fate!

The curse of waiting is still flowing

The joy of a union is never growing.

Like a yellow dry flower,

She saw herself in a mirror,

A vulture with a few hairs,

A ghost swathed in silk rags.

With a confused, blurred vision,

She tried to take her life decision,

Tore the scarf into pieces,

And broke into endless tears.

Suddenly broad loud questions

Crossed the mirror’s surface:

“How can I dare to scratch my dad’s face?

How can I dare to break my mum’s peace?”

The subsequent harm of her act

Was reflected on the mirror.

She put on a new scarf on her thoughts

And hoped impatiently for the best.

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