Asghar Abbas's Blog - Posts Tagged "mother"
Anja Ringgren Lovén
Stowed away in a corner of the night, marooned next to a window that looked onto the indifferent city, lingering on the fringes of her imaginations ensconced within the shadows of past, she sat in the brittle armchair that was the very last of her thrones.
Dire need to escape made her look out the window, but what was she to look, what was there to see, so she sat looking at the partial view allowed by the moon. The windowpanes made up of drear blades of memory barred the cult of city's personality from coming into their newly forged lies.
But something familiar crept in without hesitation anyway. Something other than the white noise of the city came inside. It tumbled in, falling on its all fours. Then straightening up it fell on her.
she shivered; the gnarled moonlight felt cold on her skin. She tightened her arms around her unasked for burden, her bundle of alleged joy, closing the already enclosed loop, sealing his fate.
She looked down at her fallow thought in her arms fashioned from something else inside of her. The infant seemed placated, for now. That made her angry, but she consoled herself by watching him sleep as he was wont to watch her in her final repose.
Amidst the murmur of his breath was the slight rise and fall of his small frame. Small warm body welling and deflating within her arms, it was the rise and fall of men.
The afterthought of her piety pressed up against her chest like a fawn flooded her with bleak sentimentality, filling her up with what she suspected was the barren love, of the suspicious kind.
She shook off the comforting feeling. Her hair cascading down her shoulders pooled around her feet. Though they offered little protection from herself, all the elements hers to play with, but served as a harness to keep her grounded on her own plane.
She pressed her face to his head, his sparse fuzz of golden hair smelled of decay and corruption yet to come. Her baby in the cradle of her willowy arms shuddered against her body almost protesting against the death of his nation.
She watched him suck in the air left stale by humanity.
Heavens felt on her side for once. She was content, though begrudgingly. But who could blame her for that?
For a moment she considered letting it all be. But no, they had made their move. Now it was her turn.
Her son would be the only man rising up from the piles of their bones.
She changed positions in the armchair, but not her mind, stroking his tiny head. she nestled to her breast what her own two hands had sent forth. She hugged the finality of her troll.
She looked down at him.
You breathe. I exist.
Dire need to escape made her look out the window, but what was she to look, what was there to see, so she sat looking at the partial view allowed by the moon. The windowpanes made up of drear blades of memory barred the cult of city's personality from coming into their newly forged lies.
But something familiar crept in without hesitation anyway. Something other than the white noise of the city came inside. It tumbled in, falling on its all fours. Then straightening up it fell on her.
she shivered; the gnarled moonlight felt cold on her skin. She tightened her arms around her unasked for burden, her bundle of alleged joy, closing the already enclosed loop, sealing his fate.
She looked down at her fallow thought in her arms fashioned from something else inside of her. The infant seemed placated, for now. That made her angry, but she consoled herself by watching him sleep as he was wont to watch her in her final repose.
Amidst the murmur of his breath was the slight rise and fall of his small frame. Small warm body welling and deflating within her arms, it was the rise and fall of men.
The afterthought of her piety pressed up against her chest like a fawn flooded her with bleak sentimentality, filling her up with what she suspected was the barren love, of the suspicious kind.
She shook off the comforting feeling. Her hair cascading down her shoulders pooled around her feet. Though they offered little protection from herself, all the elements hers to play with, but served as a harness to keep her grounded on her own plane.
She pressed her face to his head, his sparse fuzz of golden hair smelled of decay and corruption yet to come. Her baby in the cradle of her willowy arms shuddered against her body almost protesting against the death of his nation.
She watched him suck in the air left stale by humanity.
Heavens felt on her side for once. She was content, though begrudgingly. But who could blame her for that?
For a moment she considered letting it all be. But no, they had made their move. Now it was her turn.
Her son would be the only man rising up from the piles of their bones.
She changed positions in the armchair, but not her mind, stroking his tiny head. she nestled to her breast what her own two hands had sent forth. She hugged the finality of her troll.
She looked down at him.
You breathe. I exist.
