Migraine

 A hood of iron thread

Drawn over face,

Hefty as a medieval sinner's burden on her neck.

Light stabs through the slits,

Sharp as a lance,

Penetrates one eye

To enter the head.

It burrows into mind

Churning half the brain

Into molten matter,

Originating grey vapour.

Thoughts get ill-defined,

Colour negatives.

Half lucid. Half blurred

Spinning together. Phantoms of spirit.

She sinks into a miasma

of shapeless throbbing.

The eye,

Stares restively around the clock.

Head, heavy as though severed

Indents the pillow.

Embedded as a gem in a cushion—

An offer,

to the regal pain.

Dilruba Z. Ara is an internationally acclaimed Swedish-Bangladeshi writer, novelist, artist, educator and translator. She lives and works in Lund, Sweden, and writes from there.