IF ONLY by Hibah Shabkhez

Lyssiantha was too busy to die.
So other things began to die instead:
Roses, goldfish, the choked plant forced to lie
In the alcove beside her not-deathbed

Trudging on, she was too busy to die.
Or to live. Else she might have saved them all
And herself. If she had not learnt to lie
With her head forever turned to the wall

She could have learnt to let the starlight pierce
Through the autumn blighting her heart and draw
A phial of blood to pour out in fierce
Love, to snatch herself and them from death’s maw.

Hibah Shabkhez is a writer of the half-yo literary tradition, an erratic language-learning enthusiast, a teacher of French as a foreign language and a happily eccentric blogger from Lahore, Pakistan. Her work has previously appeared in Wellington Street Review, Black Bough, Nine Muses, Borrowed Solace, Ligeia, Cordite Poetry, and a number of other literary magazines. Studying life, languages and literature from a comparative perspective across linguistic and cultural boundaries holds a particular fascination for her.

Blog: https://hibahshabkhezxicc.wordpress.com/
Twitter: @hibahshabkhez
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/hibahshabkhezsarusaihiryu/
Instagram: @shabkhez_hibah