When the Outer World Misfits the Inner World

Looking out onto the plaza
immersed in comforting
bookstore vellichor.   

Trick or treaters run amok,
their garb macabre. 
I enjoy the spectacle

but hurry back upstairs
to my apartment
above the bookshop itself.  

Then, I watch as the fiesta
runs riot below me
from my enormous lonely balcony.

© N Nazir 2021

Written for Sammi Scribbles Weekend Writing Prompt: Vellichor, 48 words

*vellichor – the strange wistfulness of used bookstores.

Full definition as quoted from the Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows: “the strange wistfulness of used bookstores, which are somehow infused with the passage of time – filled with thousands of old books you’ll never have time to read, each of which is itself locked in its own era, bound and dated and papered over like an old room the author abandoned years ago, a hidden annex littered with thoughts left just as they were on the day they were captured.”

He Meets Her at the Bridge of Fallen Flowers

Let’s talk about cosmology, he said.
What about it? she asked.
I want to know how you stole my soul, he replied.
I steal into everyone’s soul, she said matter-of-factly, to which
he sighed, and a small blizzard formed and fell somewhere above the Alps.
Not so soon, she said . . .

. . . you can read the rest of the poem here.

© N Nazir 2021

* * *

I’m so pleased to have this poem published in the Whispers and Echoes Online Journal for their Autumn callout. I hope you enjoy it ❤

Sharing this for dVerse Open Link Night hosted by Linda.

Image from Pinterest

This Poem is Questionable

To be or not to be is not the question
when one doesn’t have a choice at birth.
What’s noble about suffering? is a better question.
To sleep perchance to dream is no use
if one is prone to insomnia.
How outrageous of fortune to sling arrows,
has she nothing better to do?
Ay, now, there’s the tub.
I’ll have a good soak before bed,
take the edge off.
Maybe even perchance a cup of cocoa.
To wash hair or not to wash hair? 

© N Nazir 2021

In response to Sammi Scribbles weekend writing prompt: Question, 84 words.

*This poem is a little blah but I was in the mood to write a poem about nothing much in particular. I like the restraint of a word limit, I don’t know why. Plus, I can’t resist a good Sammi Prompt.

*This poem is inspired by the very famous Shakespeare sonnet from Hamlet, which you can read in full here if you so wish: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/56965/speech-to-be-or-not-to-be-that-is-the-question

*I don’t actually have a tub.

This Poem Needs Tuning

My little finger strains to meet
the string two frets away.

Some chords will never be played.
I have been a novice at this for years.

I concede it is not my gift given, only
an ever-straining desire of the muscles

and that’s okay.  There’s no time
to do everything after all.

And sometimes
winning is a hollow thing.

© N Nazir 2021