Threads

Threads

A hushed night. Soft and still.

I see threads. Threads. There are threads. Laced like webs.

Twined around my fingers, my toes, the vessels within my heart.

Stretching out piercing through particles and atoms.

Crisscrossing through time. Interlocking and tangling.

Knotting with other threads. Weaving and weaving.

Beautiful Wound

I will accept

the burn of hope

searing my heart.

Be left with a

beautiful wound

which came from myself.

Let the scorch glow

like the beams

of light

from the sun

that sets

but continues to shine

through a sky filled

with countless stars

—

Nazia Islam is currently a student at Syracuse University studying International Relations and Anthropology. She is interested in intercultural communications, religion, and the study of human behavior/cognition hoping to further her education in the mentioned fields. She supports the arts as a way of creating change and awareness of social issues.