Monday, January 09, 2006

Poetry 101 - Ways of Looking


It was teachers’ day
Draping the black sari for school
Dotted with tiny golden flowers
And a lavish border of gold thread


The house was filled with a smell of pancakes
The perfect wake up alarm
Expertly poured and flipped
Delicious, golden brown, perfect


Tears flow down the cheeks
Eyes now beginning to redden
Why does she cry
When it was I who had to face her wrath?


Once again I forget to do,
What she had asked in the morning
That look of sadness,
Being taken for granted
I feel like dying


She sits sweating and tired,
All neatly nailed to the wall
Mere 5th grade athletic medals,
They clink against each other
Swaying in the wind
As she proudly watches


She treasures every work of poetry
Rewrites them neatly in her spiral red book
As if they were lost works
Of Shakespeare or Keats
But they are only my stupid childish poems


She sits alone waiting for a letter
Everyday checking her account
Everyday disappointed
Swallows her sorrow in the hope
That I succeed in life


Her voice trembles as she says goodbye
She looks at me intently
as if to capture the image
till I return to her again


Post a Comment

Links to this post:

Create a Link

<< Home