Monsoon in a dying city
falters, and waits.
Ruin was never its job so it
procrastinates.
Monsoon in a dying city
comes to work in guilt
an executioner destined to behead
the blatantly innocent.
Monsoon in a dying city
hyperventilates.
Fumes rise from its anger,
hope suffocates
until Monsoon in our dying city
gushes forward, eyes closed
reluctantly, achingly
doing what it’s told.
Wania Aijaz is an educator and writer based in Karachi. In her free time, she enjoys reading, watching films, and conjuring up ideas that, if the stars align and she doesn’t forget them, she ends up penning down. Her work has been featured in The Aleph Review. You can find her on Instagram @waniadotdotdot