You see half a moon,
from that room,
by the quietest side of the road,
where no one ever thought,
life would be gazing at the skies,
from the heaviest eyes.
You see a half written story,
on those half torn pages.
An ink pot half empty,
and a fig half eaten.
You see half a cup of tea
and a half eaten bread
by the table near the shelf
You close the window half
and the inkpot falls
and spills the half ink
staining the half of your pashmeena
You sit by the window
and wait for Fajr
and you run to the rug
half shredded but clean
You make half a wish,
and pray for the rest,
to be written by Him,
from the best of the fate
You ll get the other half,
one day.
And then you sleep,
for half a day,
And half a night.
And pray for the rest.
You pray everyday.
~Shafaq Shahid
