#Poetry ‘But, I Am Not Done With You’ by Fiza Pathan

But, I Am Not Done With You

by Fiza Pathan

The angel of death met me today,

While I was in my study,

Searching through the mazes of parody,

He said it was time to go now.

My days were over with the world

But, I am not done with you.

Now the darkness has descended,

Upon the birthstone of my life.

We met for only a year

But it turned to love.

I know my arteries are turning cold

As the pale sullen moon

But, I am not done with you.

What happened to our love?

The horse of backness cast a spell of poison

Of poisonous venom that congealed my thoughts

Beckoning me to enter the wilderness

Of the black sabbath.

But, I am not done with you.

You went out like a soundless whisper,

From my life of words and affection.

You took with you my poetry,

You took away the monsoon with you.

Now my days have turned around

To tell me the devil wants me home.

The knell of death is blaring my tortured sobs.

But, I am not done with you.

What happened to your promises?

The hag with the sickle is pruning my limbs.

Cutting off my silver thread,

That bound me to life’s natural bond.

She says it’s almost over.

She will know when it is time.

To breathe the plague

Of black worms into my veins.

But, I am not done with you.

You said you would always light up

My days and my nights.

The hour you said you did not care

Now torments my every hour.

I know a heart was not meant to break.

But it was not meant to be torn,

Shattered upon the bare mossy ground.

But, I am not done with you.

What happened to your responsibility?

A moonlight stranger, scorns me almost to a wail.

I whimper a colourless cloud of dust.

And now it’s time to bleed to death and say goodbye.

But, I am not done with you.

You feel I am insane to suppose you will answer

My calls and my sighs.

The hour of abandonment chills my bones

My nails are digging out my flesh.

I know you too will die one day

You are my mortal friend of dust.

Then you will know what happened when

You broke my heart and turned it,

Into a nauseating curse.

But, I am not done with you.

The cancer of centipedes, can crawl but must wait.