Posts
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Morning in Paris
It’s morning in Paris,
and the city still sleeps,
though the sun has long risen
and the cat has long been stretched in the light
that washes over the quiet courtyard.
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Mother of Demons
I wrote this for a Lord of the Flies creative project for school for which a prompt was to write about what would happen if it was girls on the island instead of boys.
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When You Are Old
When you are old and too tired to sleep,
Steeping like your lemon tea
In ancient memories and dreams,
I wonder if you’ll think of me.
When your forehead’s deeply linedWith remnants of the tears you cried
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A Tired Time
It’s a tired time we’re living in,
A tired time indeed.
We’re on the verge of giving in
To gluttony and greed.
And we say that we are fighting,Yet we haven’t changed a thing.
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The Silent and Still
I think I live for the silent and still —
The friends you made against your will.
The evening light,
The morning mist,
The impossible odds that you even exist.
Loves
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Unsent Letters
Dear, that fifteen minutes, a week
less than.
all it took for you to worm your way in.
A day. A moment. A lifetime crammed between seconds.
a bond that is a force to be reckoned with.
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I ask a lot of things
Why stay, when to breathe polluted air is to condemn your lungs?
Why stay, when to walk on hot coals ensures that every next step will burn?
If we, as people, seek water,
why do we always land at a mirage?
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She Breathed the World Through Poetry
And it tucked wildflowers
Between the pages,
Petals and pollen spiralled
Like constellations,
Still whispering of the breeze
And of the shooting stars;
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17
on the night that you broke your eyes open,
cried into candy packets you found at the petrol station smelling like gasoline and regret
in your still-standing baby teeth like slabs of sugared marble there were
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dear mother, are you really mine?
sometimes, i lay my head against my mother’s chest. i think. gaze up at her. and this time, when i look at my mother, i see. i see a powerful woman. she is nothing short of beautiful.
