the world is a little less bright
if her face, tilt downwards
with the burden of unshed torments
baiting her heart
the sky is a little less morose
when her humoured afternoon tea
is served with a pinch of spice
and sugar
•
I can go on
comparing each minuscule detail
of how and why
the world shall turn black and white for me
when her wrinkled countenance
lifts and falls
in a matter of ping pong balls
•
for I have learnt to love
her only recently
for what's she worth
what she has been for me,
for us.
her smile stretched wide
yet never complete
for the baggage drowns her
moment of happiness
with shackles helplessly dangling her eyelids
shut...
but never fully shut
as prayers in her heart
and rosary in fingertips
echos loud and clear
of her bravery and faith
whilst I stumble now and again
in the dark
•
and I hold her
with warmth and tears
as I inhale her
the smell of love and toil
one which I can never ever return
I am forever grateful for her open wings
embracing with untold love
and bliss
but one blink away she droops
with the wings still intact
to hold us up
•
as words pour by,
I am staggering and stammering
and visions blurred
to the kaleidoscopic enigma of her face
I am stuck
and held back
•
my love for her
can never be filled with words on canvas
and she doesn't need an ovation
for her bravery and sacrifices
but i
relentlessly show her as I can;
for I cant do a lot for her-
that she is loved
and appreciated
and honoured
and cared
and forever be embraced
for she is the only best thing that has ever happened to me
and I firmly believe will ever be
her sacrifices to hold me straight
and held me upright
is the only reason why I am here
and not buried in maskless caves filled with eulogies.
YOU ARE READING
Ink Stains
PoetryA collection of musings from my heart that doesn't stick to a certain genre but mostly writes on heartbreak, depression, sadness, loneliness... of course masked under heavy abstract and metaphorical imageries. It might not be your simple poem to...
