There is no joy in this rustic meditation

   upon the dried foliage.

Sunday’s foreplay with absence

       Of an act.

Your Gothic mood in city’s mirror

Spells a medieval urgency,

  To escape from sedentary lull

that crown the Sunday’s

Staid croon.


Here and there naked steps of adolescence 

Borrow sun’s heat

   reproduce it in

flesh’s proposition.

I am undone by the dogged ring of desire’s no end,

chase it with a blind innocence;

 of its insufferable recant.

Which on Sunday’s, naked hunger for a feast

 Seems innocuous.


I warm scant pieces of bronze in my pocket,

  to offer your blurred image in the distance.

As walking scents of affluence

Tell tale of town’s vain heritage.

I relieve Sunday of its settled routine

By a retiring ritual of cafe chairs lugged in

  Under evening’s closing grace.

As the sun falls, sinking,

the evening bids farewell.

This piece was originally published in Indigo Literary Journal.

Hasham Khalid is a poet from Pakistan. His poetry is inspired by the organic life of the cities he has lived in. He tweets @afterdoubt.