Letters To The Moon pt. 2

BY UMMKULTHUM

Venus

At night when the world is asleep,

The love of my life comes forth.

As though born of the sea,

As though Venus,

He comes forth.

Destruction so luminous,

A silver gleam in his eyes,

A strange kind of

Hope.

He sits beside me and I wonder if he hears my heart.

My heart says:

I am completely in love with you.

The reason for which I am yet to know.

And do you know you are completely loved?

Do you know that I am completely in love

With you?

Do you perhaps know the reason why?

My love: tender as the nights of winter.

But my lover:

Vicious as the winter nights.

And a reason

Unknown.

You Are To Me: Beauty

To me you are most beautiful.

Like the dreams that don't lie

You are to me: beauty,

Forever appealing.

I mentioned to God of your

loveliness;

How your eyes remind me of the

Dark night He created.

How your lips inspire me

To write.

And how your skin:

Delightful and handsome,

Gives me a memory

Of a Paradise I've never been to.

And God

He listens to me.

Knowing you're not a mere

wish,

God listens to me.

All hearing as He is.

God listens to my

Heart.

Excerpt from ‘Daisy Leaves’, an upcoming book.

Sometimes when he was happy, he’d sing. A song for a longing that consumes him. And I would want to cry for I thought I had given him the world. But my lover would still sing of this longing and I would still feel his miracle.

You see, he made me feel like the earth itself. And he had reached the heart of this earth. This heart where my love lays. He had reached it, you see. Its essence and its precious stones, its seedlings and its roots. And from it, a ripe fruit of immortality he grew. And sometimes I’d pour down rain and he’d stick his tongue out and taste it. A priceless gem, you are to me: I wanted to tell him.

I do not wish to be anybody else, I thought. How fortunate I am to be loved by him. And if there’s an afterlife, please God gather my soul with his, I prayed. You, alone, see how he fills me with so much life. And oh God, let him be the first I see when I open my eyes and let me be the first he sees when he opens his. In your name, I seek his love. In your name, I seek his tunes.

Greediest Of Them All

Because, my little Acacia, man is greedy. We ask of what we see but then ask of what we cannot see. And we dream night and day of happiness. Then, when sadness consumes us, we dream of dreaming again: dreaming of happiness. And such is man. Greediest of them all. You see, Acacia, a child abandons fairytales and reads stories of the ancient. “They’re true stories,” he says and scoffs at fairytales. He reaches the age of forty-three and behold, there he is collecting fairytales from all parts of the world. “Youth shall never perish among men” is his reason and resumes to feast on the tales told. And he reads of the awakening of the sleeping beauty: a tale that awakens his mind just the same. And after he receives the world in his two hands, he asks of the world where fairies thrive. And such is man. Greediest of them all.

Speak Not

Quite interesting was the young man I met today at the university. And even interesting was the woman he spoke of. “She spoke with a voice like that of the ocean,” he told me, “She wanted me to follow her. Follow her to this garden.”

“She said, ‘A garden for you. A garden for me. A garden for you and I. For you are of me and I am of you. My beloved, do you not see? This world so cruel, so harsh. It’s people so sad, so strange. So come along, my dear.’”

“And off we went into this garden. Strange was the woman. And my! Strange was the garden. 'You do not know what it’s like out there,’ she whispered, 'Let’s wait here through winter and spring. Let us wait. And hush now, speak not of this garden. And speak not of the roses.’”

“Next thing I know I had fallen in love with her. And in this time she had warned me of a few things and told me to take heed. To not look at the trees at night lest my eyes trick me and behold I see a creature not so pleasant to the human eyes. To be aware of those who carve statues of men. And once again, she said, 'Speak not of the roses.’”

It Is Winter Now

I remember you said you wanted to live on the moon. “I’ve had enough of this world,” you had said. And spoke about the injustice that thrives. My dear, aren’t you so innocent? Like a springtime plant that has lost all of its hope. How I wish I could restore it back for you.

And you said you preferred the cold. The brilliance of it all was better than warmth, you had said. And we’d travel during the summer to where it’s cold. A place where your cheeks can be the brightest shade of pink.

I remember the way the sun would kiss you. Gently as though you were a flower. You were my flower. So delicate and precious.

It is winter now and you are no more. And all I can do is remember your words and your name. Your eyes like little black coals.

It is winter now and I miss you.

Ummkulthum is a 20-year-old Tanzanian girl who was born and lives in Qatar. She writes poetry and short stories that are inspired by the dreams she gets at night and is “homesick for a heaven she’s never been to”. Ummkulthum spent her childhood reading books about fairies and magic. She tries to instill the same kind of feeling into her work. “An ode to the fairies who made life seem prettier,” she says. You can find more of her work on her Instagram @kulthumsarchive and her Twitter @kulthumsarchive.