Nagma - A World Within

"NAGMA!!! “a hoarse voice echoed the empty home in Connecticut and an old man, stifled form the arm chair, carrying a stick, with the Muslim cap on his head. The thumping sound of the stick on the white muslin Afgani carpet was breaking the silence of the dawn in West Perry Street, a suburb dwelled by mostly refugees in US. Nagma Fetoon.

A 15-year-old daughter of an artisan from Pakistan, settled in US. Her mother was British. Amir Fetoon was 23 when Nagma was conceived by his third wife, Bellona, and they fled Pakistan, just a day before the assassination of Benazir Bhutto.

She was a beautiful girl slowly blossoming into a woman. Her jet black eyes, slender figure often made a boy's heart skip a bit. She had sea-nymph ears and syrup-sweet lips.

I first met her on a holiday. The moons delicate light had just turned the world a-flame with silver when I saw her. She had a comely figure which was stem-thin. Her curvilinear waist didn’t surprise me as much as the saffron tint to her complexion. She must be a native, I thought to myself. Her crescent shaped eyebrows inclined slightly as she saw me staring at her. I yelped at being caught. Her languid eyelashes of velvet-black blinked once slowly, as if to invite me over.
When I came closer, I noticed her scrolled ears and her elegant nose. She nuzzled me with her nose and I couldn’t believe it. It was the custom for her people, I reckoned. It was love at first light. Her luminous, heavenly-white teeth flashed as she pawed at me with her film star nails. Her hair was a glorious tumble of star beam-gold and her virility-brown eyes set my heart a-thump. Her oxbow lips positively drooled with goodness. Oh! Those sugar candy-sweet lips, her elegant personality, all mesmerized me. She may not have had a saccharine voice or retro clothes, but what do you expect when two Labrador pups meet in a dog pound?

But there was a certain air of mystery about her. One day while we were walking across the park, I saw two burnt marks on her shoulder which looked like a black rotten blood stain on a sheet of snow. I never asked her.

She knew I saw that and looked straight at me. She looked afraid. Ashamed. She uplifted her veil and said “Don’t ask anything Salim”

And then she hurried away. I never saw her from that day until I came across this. Continue to http://neverbearacist.blogspot.com/2017/02/nagma-search.html