Asifa's daughter

wanted to sleep

on the terrace

that day

yet, Asifa

ignored her pleas

and bolted the windows,

pinned quilts all over,

and covered her daughter,

in the darkest of cloth

veiling her

from the bitter secrecies

of the outside world

her daughter was

drenched in perspiration

yet somehow,

asifa couldn't sleep

for she heard them

strut up to her terrace

and shoot relentlessly

asifa couldn't stop thinking

what would have happened

if she had let her daughter

sleep up there

cruel souls 

would have ripped her apart

she'd be sliced

into two equal halves

asifa could almost see

the little serpent of life

writhing and trembling,

yearning,

to be kicked away

a gust of wind took it away

asifa was left

grieving,

the creamy moonlight

nauseated her

hot silvery light

blinded her

asifa closed her eyes

and wished for winter

she wished for snowflakes

to dot her windowpane

so lost was she,

in her blissful illusion

little did she realize,

that she knelt upon the terrace,

as the sharp stone

grazed her knees,

she held her daughter's

fragile body

her hands drenched

in dark, dark blood

lost in her illusion

of winter and snow

asifa did not notice

the malevolence around her

for an armed gunman

stood behind her

I think she didn't feel

the bullet penetrate her

instead,

asifa felt the winter wind,

sweep the sweat

from her brow

she tasted the salty snow

and thought of the days

when she would

walk through the markets

unaccompanied

unveiled