A Dream of the Lost Archer
Psyche drifts in a twilight garden,
Where roses bloom black as midnight
and rivers run silver with moonlight.
She walks barefoot,
The soil was soft and warm beneath her trembling feet,
But the air is sharp, scented with longing.
Ahead, a shadow moves…a flicker of gold.
Her heart catches.
Her breath shards like broken glass.
It is he.
Cupid.
But not the god she remembers.
He is taller, darker,
Wings half-burned,
Eyes carrying the weight of centuries.
He does not speak.
He does not touch.
He only tilts his head.
And in that glance,
She feels every stolen kiss.
Every arrow fired,
Every pulse of desire
that once made worlds tremble.
A wind rises.
The black roses bow.
The silver river swirls,
And when Psyche reaches for him,
He fades into light.
Becoming a constellation
in the shape of a broken bow.
A whisper rides the wind:
“We were never meant to touch again,
But, you(Pysche) will always carry my fire.”
Psyche wakes,
Her chest aching with absence,
Her soul alight with a memory
that is not hers to hold.
She presses her hand to her lips,
and for a fleeting moment,
The warmth of his wings
brushes her skin…..
A ghost of love
that belongs only to dreams.
A ghost of body that only belongs to another,
And, a ghost of soul that brings only nostalgia,
Absence of presence,
Loss of an essence-
The alchemy died beneath- hidden underwaters!
©® Farheen Akter Bhuian Nancy
Time Frame: 2.29 pm, Mirpur Cantonment.