Written by
Areej Siddiqui

Areej is a Saudi-born Pakistani citizen, now doing her B.A. in Ontario, Canada. Areej officially studies English and Philosophy but can be found at all hours gobbling up a book on something or other. While being a devoted DWL-ite, she is also (very much by luck, chance) a Poetry Editor at The Missing Slate. She happens to write poetry that some deem publishable, also by luck, chance, and in her spare time (if an undergraduate student can claim to have such a thing) she indulges in copious amounts of bad television and cheesy movies about kittens. Her favourite word at the time of writing this bio is "silly."

Alone in the Room, Again

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You’ve left your glasses on the bed
stand, next to a picture of your wife –
you told me
she died romantically, her head in your lap
on a trip to the alps or some other cold
place.

I’ve been waiting naked in this room
for a while now – you said
it would take some time for
the pill to work.
Your bed
smells of cigars and a female
scent that I did not bring to the sheets

This isn’t the first time –
I know my way around this house,
I know your wife
still breathes her clothes hang
in the wardrobe,
her shoes are never in
the same place,
you leave jewellery on the table,
unnoticed, in your rush to clean
up before bringing me home –

the chain slinked on the picture-frame today
is one I gave her
after we first made love
a year ago, in your absence.

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• A BIANNUAL LITERARY MAGAZINE BROUGHT TO YOU BY DESI WRITERS' LOUNGE •

Volume 7

Outside: Looking In - January 2011

Verse

Alone in the Room, Again