Nabeeha Mudassar
Pakistan
the blood on my hands is not my own
a pilfered treasure, i stole it like a breath from your lungs
my claws digging in your heavy heart
did you look at me when it broke?
for the life of me, i cannot remember
i clutched bloody fingers onto your bruised soul
until it finally gave out
the floorboards stained crimson like the memory of happy summers,
sticky apple juice and that damning maroon of your smile
the same spilling colour that i am painted in,
rust iron, the tang of ichor, a tapestry of carmine
and yet, it is scarlet that you bleed
even now
A seventeen year old girl from Pakistan, Nabeeha has been writing from the very first moment she learned how to pick up a pencil. Various books, poems and stories pay tribute to her life. Her hobbies include reading, crocheting and swimming.
Saffron City Press 