In a home covered in dusty blue paint
Surrounded by wonderful wisteria
Fenced by a cream picket
Pairing ornate corbels
That frame the entryway
And every day, like clockwork
The sole occupant of the periwinkle house
Rouses with the rising of the sun
Emitting a boisterous but graceful yawn when she wakes
As she rolls out of bed,
She reaches for her bedside table
Opening the drawer
Grabbing an oddly shaped key
The girl lifts her shirt ever so slightly
Positioning the key on her lower back
There is a hole exactly the right size for the key
Slowly but surely, she winds-up her crank
Each turn awards her an hour of gold
Naturally, the girl turns the key; instantaneously, though she fatigues
Beads of sweat start to form, but she will not concede
She keeps rotating the key, counting each turn aloud
Sporadically, she stops turning the key
She wound herself up twenty-four times
Enough to last the entire day
After her laborious efforts, she continues with her routine
Shutting the door behind her
The girl leaves her periwinkle house
An automated smile planted on her face
And a golden aura wrapping her frame
While her machinery audibly ticks and ticks
A sign of her time slipping away into the oblivion
Fabricated happiness is something we could do without as a society. There is no need for someone to be happy, and we should not shame those for being anything less than that. Whatever feelings you hold inside contribute to who you are as a person. Should one discern their emotions, they lose sight of the person they are.
Side note: Thank you for reading!
आप पढ़ रहे हैं
Poems of an anchor
कविताI'm a poet, and yes, I know it I am very fond of poetry and writing. I'm the kind of person who never verbalizes my feelings. I prefer to write them down, transforming them into literary works of art. Words bear comfort and catharsis for my heart an...
