The Door Now

Faleeha Hassan

His feet are planted in vanishing clay

like a timid discussion

An awkward moment

Just waiting for someone to open it

No visitor's hand can smooth the crackle of desolation from his face

No ray of hope Or longing for a quick touch

The more time passes

The more the meaning of his presence is fades

His eye is now ringed with fear

As if he keeps watching the seeds of nothingness forming in the deep of a dark tunnel