Perhaps Fatima Al-Binali | Medical Student, WCM-Qatar

Perhaps

Fatima Al-Binali Drawing

Ryka Sehgal Poetry

And the rain kept coming and coming and coming And he walked to the mirror and met himself eye to eye And noticed that he saw there not a man he knew, but a boy in a wrinkled shirt And he lifted his hands to his face and felt they were warm And his face was warm too.

Could he tell?

And his shoulders quivered, as they usually did not And his palms moved slowly back And forth across his forehead to feel for a change of heat And chance a way to convince himself that he could not tell really, what he felt And that the shiver of his shoulders bespoke a thrill of his mind.

Did it not?

And he had no one to ask And lowering himself to a chair, he wondered And gripped his arms in a lonely embrace across his shoulders, as others did not for him And would not And he wondered when they might someday again.

But when?

And with shaking, aching arms he reached out for the cabinet And fumbled back the clutter of cracked containers and old gauze And bottles And grasped and groped for that bit of white-capped orange And once found, out it poured into warm wet palms And he swallowed.

Was it long until soon?

And his eyes held straight and heavy in his head And they scarcely blinked as the boy began to flicker in the reflection And in the weak light from the nearby window did the air glitter around them.

Oh, how beautiful the dust!