I miss the old form – its necessity, its high illusion, transgressive stupor,

 I miss the ability of wind, I miss its candor .

I miss wandering aimlessly through the streets like through jungles lit with lamps

I miss the ability of a word to turn a phrase

I miss the enchanted moon, its sudden appearances

I miss the method of day-time, and most of all I miss you

The way you would be there at the end of a season,

The way it would matter these turns on revolving, evolving nights

I miss the delight of danger and on perilous roads, I miss the vision

I miss the moment, the song of beauty, the sound of serenity and the passing of angels.

I miss moving in caravans of magic workshops, reconstructing dreams of the previous night

I miss modern dance and its innovative science to capture a swan, a tiger, a nightmare.

I miss the sentence and how it would breathe out of new proximity.

I miss the sands, their footprints on mine, and the sea, and how it would call.

I miss the city that would understand in handshakes and know you like black silk through night sky.

I miss the quiet flow of twilight throughout a town.

There is a whale passing through the sea – I miss it memories, voices, loves. I miss its hearing, its tendency to know deep futures and relinquish pasts like sea-foam.

I miss the tender heart-beat of death as it created no shadows, back in the day when ends were simple lighters extinguishing cigarettes.

I miss the on-going necessity of new-form to come into Being, presence.

I miss the laughter of Apollo and the sand-castles of Dionysius.  

Artwork By: Sabeen Ahsan