Standing atop the wall.

There is a wall that he has built around himself,
standing a solemn brother of night’s watch atop it,
making me a wildling women,
and him the bastard of winterfell,
I stood Ygritte,
thinking, my love would strip away the black of him,
but he was Jon snow,
and  I knew nothing,
stood we up, atop the wall,
whispering promises of love in each ear,
expanding out ball to the five years time,
drew up together,
forever and forever,
the kingdoms behind us,
the north in front,
but nothing like the scent of foreign hunt,
they had been separated,
yet, profound again,
for,
she is his and he is hers,
but soon the sun,
blew him black,
he did not admit it,
until two days later, he went for black,
the love story belonged to Ygritte and Snow,
but there are others like them,
me and him,
he and she,
him and her,
they and them,
Ygritte and Snow posses us all,
standing atop, at the wall.

-Naba Mehdi.

My Children And Me.

POEM: TWO.

There rides demons in my head,
I know it now,
they are rooted deep beneath the surface,
riding on my horses,
they do sleep too,
in the day time,
when everyone is awake,
they are at their peace.
But once the sun starts going down,
they began their yawn,
literate they are,
do everything as do we,
gets out of their beds, as the sun goes down,
then slowly and being lazy, does their chores,
whatever it is that they do,
when once everyone is asleep
they began their day,
trying to manage as much mischief in the hour,
they hold the reins of me,
for years,
that has scared me,
till today,
but today,
I see it differently,
I know that they exist,
and I know they won’t go away,
they are mine too,
born inside of me,
who knows how long it took for me to conceive them,
but it seems as if I am their mother,
born of my blood,
inside of head,
ruling my realms,
they are indeed my children,
my family,
and who turns away from family,
now that they are born,
and they are mine,
I began to realize,
that they are not so wrong,
just some lonely souls,
who beg to be loved,
what if the people made it so,
that demons are all monsters,
and that all monsters are bad,
what if the people are the culprit,
who so scared to share their love,
deemed them bad,
an unaccounted fate,
traveling from time and times ago,
is a legacy for the times to come,
for the love we bare for our elders,
we dare not question,
their judgment of our demons,
today,
now that I’ve had them,
its time to stand by my own,
demons are what we really are,
our true faces,
our true desires,
so, what if they hold my reins,
and that I act a little out of order,
at least, I’m pure.
so. I let them have it,
I let my demons out in the garden,
at night times,
my insomnia is not for the ones I’ve lost,
it’s for the love the bore my demons,
I’ve began to like them,
who know, I might love them too,
after all,
they are mine,
they are me.

-Naba Mehdi.

The color red.

POEM: ONE.

Once there was a boy,
And the other a girl,
Everyone thought of them as one,
Yet no one wondered what they thought of themselves.
Thus began their love story,
A love deeper the anyone could imagine,
Too much was their love,
That the two of them drowned in it,
There came a flowing rush,
A blood, that had them both,
A blood, their own,
That killed its own,
Standing there,
They thought of each other as foe,
That missed the real foe,
They bled and until all the blood was on the floor,
Little did others knew,
They’d incarnate themselves,
And so they did,
And again went through the same fate,
And on and on it went,
Until the boy have had enough,
he turned towards her, and murmured,
Lets move on.
The girl could not,
They stayed there in shimmering night,
The girl cried, the boy grew cold,
Actually, he wasn’t cold,
He acted as one,
Standing there in the cold,
The wind freezed in his ear,
For days and days and days,
Waiting for the sun to fall on his face,
Little did he knew,
He stood on the sun himself,
Years of waiting made him pale,
Desperate as he was,
He started pretending he saw the sun above,
Everyone did so too,
After all, they are killer of their own happiness too,
He lived under the shadow of pretendence,
Until, one day they met again,
He looked at her,
While his ear rang of a sound,
A sound of escaping drop joining the pool of dead,
There she stood, Still bleeding,
He took the next drop in his hand,
And moved away from his place of sun,
They it shined again on his face, as it rose,
He took her love for his own,
There she stood, from behind,
Starting at his lover, not her own,
She watched and bled of her own blood,
While, he took another’s girl in his hand,
And suddenly,
A drop fell,
Finally declaring the death of her,
He had moved on,
Like he said,
And she died, bleeding yet still,
Her blood still runs below our ground,
So whenever you see a red spot,
Look closely,
You may find her love in it.

-Naba Mehdi.