Areeba Tayyab (Pakistan)
Areeba Tayyab ,Author of The Bloody Muse( World Laureate in Literature 2018 by World Nations Organization of Poets and Writers) Lecturer English Language and Literature, Academic Researcher, Columnist at The Nation and The Educationist, former Chairperson of Youth General Assembly and Active spokesperson of gender issues and socio psychological aspects of the youth, Teaching Assistant Lahore College for Women University and Creative Writing trainer at University of South Asia, Lecturer at Superior University and English Instructor at Lahore Grammar School.She can be reached at https://areebatayyab.com/about/
The Red Bloody monster speaks to me in night,
An innocent day filled with light of polite.
The night treats me with an intimate flight,
I stop reducing my urges, staying quiet.
A wet and soggy feeling it is to be close,
The glass so blur makes an image of rose.
“Stay calm”, said the bloody monster to my ear;
Your flesh is mine; your soul is mingling fine.
This thrilling sensation I cannot bear,
But how to stop me from his dine?
Submit, submit and submit, this is what it has to say,
While I with my bare feet regret to pray and pray.
Temptation, Thrust, Connection,
Lost, Ugly, Redemption.
Thy words rotten,
Thine world fallen.
Meet him! Will I?
The enigma of my dreams,
Like a cake of cherry cream,
Eat him will I? Or look at him like:
gods stare at the free mortals,
Lust stares at love,
Power stares at peace,
Or sinners stare at redemption.
Kiss him! Will I?
The lips of my poisonous mate,
Like a sensuous dose on a first date.
Kill him, Will I? Or kiss him like:
A bee sucks pollen,
A corpse drinks a cure,
An anemic some blood,
Or breast for her babe.
And all my similes for you,
All my meters sung for your rhythm.
The stain of blood remains there on my dress,
As he killed me for the honor of his beloved rest.
Killing is the art of surviving,
Survival craves for kill.
Oceans turn red by the passion of my youth,
The killer enjoyed the view all mute.
In his silence, the honor was made,
And now I am declared Ms. Late.
Chastity, respect and subjugation,
No room for confrontation.
Minority are minor minute,
Majority of us are dilute.
Honor! When comes their way,
All men then become astray.
Respect and love are parallel grounds,
Neither mingles nor tends to cross over.
Here is a notion proposed,
Lets say love is a course.
Respected can’t be loved out of respect.
Loved ones cannot be ever respected.
Why do then people say that respect the ones you love;
This honor killing all seems to be a big bluff.