Hafsa Mumtaz

Death Subterfuges in the Double Helix of Life

Photons          mother-of-pearl
 like aureloa of   your dreams
      like fingers     dancing
        on the bridges of 
        you elixir your fate 		
   line into bows   of     filigree
dryads and naiads	       spout	
splashes	      of nacré baroque
   weaving moments       with	
          yarn of smiles and	
               the death of 
       shadows    the   words	
   shrink when     they        inhale
the candour 	and   intonation – 
astute. florescence.        radiance, 
      opalescence,     iridaceous
          hoops of        gilded 
              loops in the 
      helix of DNA       entangle 
   nihilism         and    moribund
petals of draconian	           reality 
cleaved 	      but magneted    by 	
    specks of hope,             for 
       breathing oxygen is not


phosphenes:	gold prill, 	            blood prill	
afloat in the 		               vortex of seams – 
the demons 		               trancing
along the edge 	               of the scarp,
planting insecurities they 	                      dine
on the breaths of 		                 my reveries.
Hades canopies the	                 phantoms
and 	wraiths	in a		                 cloak
of 	inky fumes – 	icy 	                 cold
and the colours evanesce
into the	                   abysses of their        own.
freckles 	                   of dust rosy in the 
veins;    coal-like hair           turn             ashen;
rathe frame	  of 	              stiff phosphorous.
not a whit of	 this   caricature 	                of 
folly remains, not a 	                  droplet   of
wine   that gushes              in the  heart, rushes
to the cheeks. the syllables of    these
words 	dilate like 	the cradle 
moulded out of	        dust; shroud	     like
moonglade under 	        the nocturnal      roof.

From the Author: There are quite a few discrepancies betwixt the essence of life and death. A subtle sublimity rests in the idea of death which is pondered upon not just by philosophers or poets, but even by laymen. The two oxymorons depict how living without hope is like lying in your grave, and how beauty of each is matchlessly impeccable. While you’re alive, you don’t realize what death might feel like until you live through the death of perseverance in and honesty to your dreams.

Hafsa Mumtaz, aged 22, is an emerging Muslim poet from Pakistan, with a bachelor in English Language and Literature. She loves poetry ranging from Wordsworth to Plath. She started writing poetry at the age of 18, but got it published at the age of 22. Her poetry majorly delves in chasm of chaos of the mind and life. Her poetry has been published in Visual Verse, The Rising Phoenix Review, Women’s Spiritual Poetry, The New Verse News, Poetry Potion, Autumn Sky Poetry Daily, Terror House Magazine, Ravi Magazine, and The Sandy River Review.