whisper again by Nausheen Rahman

whisper again, sweet fig tree
that rugged breath of your leaves
that warning sign
the storm has come
the winds that show you no reprieve

let the first drops trickle through
and taste your flesh, your deepest wounds
then let them hum
yes, let them beat
with your own pulse, both old and new

until your beats, they sing as one
your marrow soaked, your colour undone
your texture worn
but glistening
the happy glow of a dying sun

don’t fold as raw silence pervades
as you’re left exposed and the beats fade
your leaves grow still
your whisper gone
though you may feel barren and betrayed

feel the warmth upon your skin
of nostalgia after the storm’s din
the amber kiss
it makes you weep
drawing truths from deep within

the rustling of your aching soul
the yearning beyond your control
to feel alive
the sweet heartbeat
without it, you don’t feel whole

but it’s not gone, sweet fig tree
it lives in you, it grows your leaves
it’s in your flesh
your great big scars
the clefts that only rains can see

the fickle storms that come and go
may unveil your wounds, their ebb, their flow
may hum with you
your beat, your pulse
make your colours stream, leave you aglow

then abandon you, but they leave you strong
they remind you where your beat belongs
your disfigured roots
that now shape your leaves
in the sorrow which you turned to song

and a whisper so big it fills up the night
it’s admired by the sweet moonlight
by the floodplains
the morning dew
by the embroidered stars within your sight

so stay open to the unhindered skies
to their inconstancy and capricious guise
keep whispering
your heartbeat strong
and stand tall, wounded, worn and wise

Nausheen Rahman, like many, writes in her spare time, drawing from tastes, colours and textures of her experiences from working, living and travelling in dichotomous regions of the world.