Yellow Paint

Yellow Paint

What is it about sunsets?

About that soft dazzling yellow

Slipping down your cheek,

Along the bridge of your nose,

Brimming along your jaw:

Like drops of dew on edges of leaves,

Like raindrops lingering along,

Shed of rusted tin,

Of roof of house of straw.

As I glance at your countenance,

Your lips curl in a smile,

And those drops of yellow paint, lingering

Drop down and plop down, sheer

Into the cup of my palm.

And in my palm I now hold,

Drops of sun that shone on you:

This pool of golden yellow: ripples

That was once bright and warm,

Flows across my palm,

Down my wrist, towards my arm.

This drop of yours is lost,

Before I could behold in awe,

In wonder, in joy, in nostalgia.

Should I rejoice in and revel

To the fact that:

In my palm I had held,

An infinity of a moment,

When I was with you;

When the sun

Had shone on you.

Or should I cry and lament

Over the fact that:

In my palm I had held,

An infinity of a moment,

When I was with you;

When the sun

Had shone on you.

Zainab Jamshaid is a 1st year medical student at KEMU, Pakistan. She is 19 years old and a photographer, poet and essayist. A bibliophile, she describes herself as “an artist who paints with words.

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