Member-only story
Featured
A POEM
The Foam and the Stars
A Poem on Distance and Dreams by Ruftaz Raj
At nights, when the sky tends to flip colors,
and all the clouds appear to be mirrors—
that, when I’m not looking,
capture the reflections of your presence
as soon as my eyes glide to the corner walls from the ceiling.
The snowballs in my hands are but made of foam,
which I touch and play with—
throwing them around the houses
that are built just out of dreams.
On the ridge, grasses don’t grow
any taller or greener.
When the birds flock,
judging by their wing movements,
I can say I’m moved backwards.
I’m moved backwards
as the boundary line stands still—
straight and strong since last morning.
It’s just that the barbed wires now seem
even a little more distant.
I wonder—do I even like flowers anymore,
or just those thorns that prick
a few layers of skin on my feet
as I walk on the road?
