Poetry

The Red Grass

Aristotle said that
The harmony is the medium of music;
At dawn, the sound of the flute or lyre
Is an imitation
Of one’s warmth.

I see, this is why
Filters were invented
To conceal the warmth
To envy the chords.

The monsoon must have cried
As hundred hands tore open
Two young bodies
While the sun ruthlessly grew ghosts
To write an elegy
To the guitar strings on red grass.

-Mehnaz Hussain
 B.A Eng. Hons., Jamia Millia Islamia

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