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Burning Dreams

Kindling fires, dance around remains of once dreamed dreams:
Flames cast shadows, like the battle of two lovers.
Mingling ires, glance around echoes of once screamed screams,
Play like heroes like not brittle prayers of mothers.

From dying embers, hopeful wisps of grey swirl up.
What colour the bright sky is, above the bleak grey!
All vying colours, wistful, crisp as hay twirl up,
What honour the burned sigh brings, above the sweet day!

It blows, with secrets whispered, hushed, across the plains.
Plays with your skin, puffs your hair and rustles the leaves.
It slows, sweetest, listened, rushed across the waves,
Stays under sins, huffs and glares and brushes the tree.

A branch caught it. It sank into it, giving life.
And so the vines twined around the tree, vivid green.
It launched, sought it. It sang unto it, taking strife.
And oh, then entwined, surrounded the sheen, purple sheen.

Trellis bloomed, embraced the hard arches lovingly.
We shared the sun's heat in the bitter, cold winters.
Thunder boomed and graced our charred wishes soothingly.
Heat flared; the moon's sweet cool's better, oh my timber!

I'll cover you in lush colour, divine splendour.
And even if fire catches us in the drought,
Don't cower. You will hush, dear, you're mine forever,
And even if fire latches on you, I'll have fought.

And I am the minty mist, essence of burned dreams.
I burn bright beneath the sun, dance before the moon.
The sigh, the steamy gust, reminiscence, it seems.
Our burned breath beneath the sun, entranced by the gloom.

By: Aalia Khan Yousafzai