Scents - of the sinful and the holy

Slow, she wakes up on a cold winter morning,

wrapped in white sheets and light of a holy day 

untying her oiled braids  

and the knots in her heart

soaking her body in

old fashioned lavenders and scented sandalwoods

slow, the sound of sweltering water

running across her body

like rivers and oceans 

and a sea where the moon cries

only to drench her long locks  

slow, the transition of her bare soul 

into a woman covered in long pherans, velvet, maroon

and antique rust earrings,

their shadow play like an old moroccan lantern 

slow, she walks across your home 

holding the oud stand, like a flambeau,

scenting every room, every corner 

but soon you say, 

oh she smells like a girl covered in sins,

perfuming her body

and asking strange men to light her cigarette

your scent, you say, soak me in your scent, you say

slow, she gives herself away

slow, along with her skin, her soul, she gives away

slow, you let her in,

her luring eyes, her sinful red dress, her long rebellious hair, her chewed cigarettes,

you let her in, woman of your dreams

but there is no mercy

men, you are so thirsty

slow, you say, obey,

slow, you crave a different smell, you say

these holy ouds, these velvet pherans

these lavenders, these sandalwoods

are womanhood, you say

you preach, she prays

you're bound to her spell

her smell

her scents,

her scents will drag you to hell.

Scents; of the sinful and the holy  By Madiha Shams Khan