by Hibah Shabkhez
With boots and greatcoat,
I shiver
In the wind and rain
Lashing us.
Armed and armoured, I
Still concede.
But the plume, afloat,
Aquiver
With hurt pride and pain
Starts to cuss
As it waits to die
On the reed,
Rustling: all summer
I called you
While you cooed over
Fair flowers;
Then I watched you mourn
Browning trees.
Now you come hither
To slice through
Me, make me stover;
Your showers
Scissor me with scorn
Try to squeeze
Me lifeless; but I -
I will fall
For nothing less true
Than your first
Snow -
About the Author:
Hibah Shabkhez is a writer and photographer from Lahore, Pakistan. Her work has previously appeared in Harpur Palate, Stirring, Forevermore, Empyrean Literary Magazine, Good River Review, and a number of other literary magazines. Studying life, languages, and literature from a comparative perspective across linguistic and cultural boundaries holds a particular fascination for her.