Poems

Bay Window

Outlines of the body.
Intersection of curves.
Near the door to the balcony.
a blue chair varnished by sun.
The lines move,
Curves interact.
The sofa, a Matisse kind of red,
envelops sounds of love.
Soon this will be a painting,
a still moment in time.
There will be an amber streak
(where none can be seen)
along your arms.
A nuance of pink on your forehead,
a golden sheen on the bed frame.
The trick, say painters,
is to capture this instant
and never let it die,
You and I, by this bay window,
connected
in a never-ending now.

Moeen Faruqi
Published in DAWN, October 2002