a syncopation of aftereffects

a tap dance with the beat of the thumb, tapping lump-thump away on a compact disco, the guzzle remains loud as ever in sync with the percussion (( I hear my heart solidifying in my ears )) the motorcycle revs as an ad plays on the screen, the robotic voice ad nauseam just like the muezzin proclaiming at regular intervals that someone has passed away Congratulate yourself! A pat on the back won't do, you have to take yourself on a date, use the promo code LOVEYOURSELF to get a flat 10% off on our $250 single specia— I let down the shutters & shut my eyes; the shit from the street showered by the gasoline tinge from the motorcycle’s engine, the pool of fresh sheets on the sofa spilling heat which they sucked in when Sofia was lying there explaining what she thinks of the Sophists the kids playing cricket with a mock-bat they vacuumed out of the gutter the older around the corner seeing this commotion play out a backdrop to the younger days all sound sullen syncopated beats to me that the desire only grows in retrospect. I peek from the vertical eye of the window unveiled by the shutters— people of a bazillion kind in a small squared space but no Sofia I collapse and in my dreams the rhythm breaks loose and I tell her almost everything.

Ammara Younas comes from Gujranwala, Pakistan. Besides her regular job creating content, she enjoys writing imaginative stories infused with magical realism. Shes currently working on a collection of poems that weave together the tapestry of Greek myths and Pakistani folklore.

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