I walked towards the door
and looked around
to assure myself
that it was a dream,
when I found
the woman in me
chasing the man
who sat beside me-
in the candle light,
on the red mat
like an elderly
who narrated stories
and I listened.
.
Out of nowhere, he came
and we sat beside each other
with the flickering light
of the candle
that stood between us.
He started to speak
what I had never known.
I listened as a child
without interrupting.
The light flickered in between
to distract me
and grabbed my gaze
but I went back again.
.
He narrated his past
the homelessness of a child
and the journey, he walked
-all alone.
He did not tremor at all
even though I did
at times,
when some words he spoke
was felt to have taken out
cleverly, though
from the deep caverns of me
that was never found by any
or perhaps, I believed so.
.
I wondered,
how he chose my home
and walked in to share my meal
in that candle light,
to sit beside
and to speak the childhood I crossed.
He told me the tales
of himself; of the courage
he gathered finally
along the journey,
as though to inspire.
And I sat without any emotion
or rather any expression to interrupt.
.
And finally,
he washed his hands
and left my home,
without a farewell note.
Yes, I was there
at the door
to see him off.
He walked away. . .
Far away, or faded away!
And the flickering light went off
as though it burnt
only for him
and for his story to be told.
.
I looked again
on to the mat,
where we sat
and munched on
to the toast I served
and sipped the hot black tea.
Yes, the kettle was found,
but not in the mat.
It laid in its place
as usual, in the dust
untouched; unused.
.
Yes, it was a dream
I got it!
And I reminded myself
every time I looked at the mat
that is laid on my floor
and the kettle,
found in the corner,
as usual in the dust-
untouched, unused
for the decades, I know.
©️Shehla Ashkar
©shehla
S