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Violet May 1
Legs, straining
Pain, excruciating
Sadness, looming
Loneliness, accumulating

My future further
An alert to my health
They said, it is time to go  
Mom beckoned me home

I will never
Hear the waves
Feel the ship rocking
Donning the uniform
Saluting with pride

For I did not make it
Years I yearned the post
Now it is just my forgotten dust
Farewell my dream  

Determined soul
Fighting against defeats  
For I am a newborn  
Learning to love
For love is my strength
Oh lord please tell me  
Tell me it is all worthwhile
I gave my on trying to go for my dream job for love, tell me it is worth
Violet Apr 29
Quickening steps
Glistening eyes
Extending arms
Your fervour challenged ephemerality
Warmth I have never felt before
Illuminated my world of darkness
An envision of home
Only in your embrace
To my dearest love.
Violet Apr 26
Cooped up in my humble abode and privacy unheard of before and now.
The friction of my shoes emerged to undesirable friction of my four walls.  
Ratcheting up of worries about my future, I pondered when would this pandemic end.
My predicament sent me reeling so I convinced myself to juxtapose with countries reeling.
A short joy on the end of my collegiate life soon accounted to the fueled uncertainties of the job market.
Success used to be landing a remunerative job but now they said, landing any job would be a blessing.
What about my dreams? They ought to cease to exist.
It is no longer about dreams. It is about being alive.  
My demise, the demise of an industry, the demise of a country and the demise of the world.
The ghastly truth of how my simple action of staying at home would impact the safe havens of many.
A true test to my character in avoidance of getting positive from the test of COVID-19.

For I know I am not alone.
A poem I came up with as the world fight COVID-19, specially dedicated to people who find themselves in shambles due to the pandemic.
Violet Apr 26
You beckoned me to the kitchen
Even when I have piling homework
To watch you with your wok spatula
With homely pleasures of your flavours
With arising curiosity and excitement
For three humble years I was tasked
To watch the sizzling magic of your wok
And the next three years a mundane task
To cook only a dish which
With growing apathy
I loathed to be at your beck and call
But I abided with reluctance yet due respect
Eventual realisation to my growing passion
A deeper appreciation to the art you impart
Then a surprise teaching of something new
Which I never knew
Will alas be the last
Before you depart without goodbye
In earnest, I recreate your flavours
Only in hopes you taught me more
A poem for my late grandmother.

— The End —