Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Poets dream, they always do
about the impossible made possible
within stanzas and words
they think they weave magic into routine
and move hearts like the mellifluous motion of honey
dense sweet and sticky
connecting one chest to another

Poets claw through the mundane
to find the shimmering light of drama
the stirring stick, with the tumultuous traits

They cannot settle for the norm
they find it deformed
for when that happens
they reach for toxins
to remedy
the normality
I do not want to confine myself to a cubicle
I do not want to type my way through a day
I do not want to bite my nails, fearing I ‘d fail
I do not want to smoke my anxiety, on a Thursday
I do not want to miss sunrise, in traffic
I do not want to train a fake smile
I do not want to mingle, even when I’m single
I do not want to leave quarantine, even if you call it a syndrome
I do not want to jump into busy, I do not miss it
I do not want to forget how to value
I do not want to rush, I like the pause
I do not want to live by time, I want to control time
I do not want to consume a designated lunch, I want to make lunch matter
I do not want lockdown to end
When she is unable
to fight our fate
She practices self hate
But she never sees
fault in her kids
How much irrelevant may
be our deeds & needs
Happy mothers day to HPians.
A mother only sees all good in us and never let us down .

— The End —