By Saima Ali Seen

A ting sound
grabbed my attention
Like how morning birds
wake the dreamers
On my phone,
sat a notification
‘MUSE Fall issue
has been published.’
The boy in my class
I reminisce
sparkling from
the windows, sunlit
responded to questions
madam asked
while I sat there
feeling aghast
As though his brilliance
came innate
ahead of me by miles,
my very own classmate
I watch him progress
hiding the ache
of wanting what
I couldn’t imitate

I want to become
like him too
So I sit down
on that very desk
searching
for something to write
But nothing
comes to mind
My page is empty
So is my heart
I get compliments plenty
but never called smart
I laugh, derisively
not because it’s funny;
but because
bitterness has borrowed wit
and wears it bright and sunny.
I could never define
whether I coveted him
or his dazzling shine
I kept staring,
at the place the light chose
My hands remain folded
as if waiting to transpose
The classroom empties
I take my notebook home
without its daily entries.