‘tell the angels not to touch me/ without permission’ :: adeeba shahid talukder

‘Tell the angels not to touch me/ without permission’
          — Overheard on the 1 train


Beauty is a constant state
of unrest. To love, to settle
down; you will not be as alluring
after this.

(Your face no longer
evidence of springtime, your eyes
no longer all there is.)


In a family so large there will be old men
who cannot speak, a few broken
marriages, a sad

Haris brought to me some yellow
thread, a balloon
without air. He watched
from his window as I left
once again.


It’s like a love affair,
to meet and part
with your grandchildren:

they do not need you.
They will realize this
before you can stop thinking
of where they will go, whom

they will marry.


Robes of black, flashes
of lightning. Someone, somewhere,
furious. Tell the angels to stay

away, tell them
I am not of them.