Tears — Ramsha Ashraf

Bones creak,
When you lay down
In the bed of a person
Dead in your directory,
A moment or two cry
The pain out via water,
Though it doesn’t cure.
Soaps smell at the door,
Olives of the home
Or oils of the garden
To comfort the scales
Of dried hands, numbed.
The person is under mud,
The bed is still warm,
The fragrance still alive,
People are happy.
Only a moment or two cry.