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Nausheen Eusuf

BPR 44 | 2017

Is it not the beauty of the maculate?
The speckled, spotted, the rose now varicose;
the sky now gold and now a purple bruise;
the taint and sully of the soul’s caprice;
the fitful orisons of a restless hour;
the artful heart so fickle-quick to sour.

Whatever wavers with the changing minute:
the weather, the markets, the 401 and peace
of mind; what had been promised but never meant;
the youth and years that now seem badly spent—

Accept it.