Choices

Graceful, slender, tall, and blonde –
in fancy clothes she was donned
enrolled in a pricey school
off to be a dancer as planned.
Twinkletoes chose tennis instead,
proved passion meant more than all.

Cake-Like

Life is a piece of cake;
there are bad batter days
with too much sugar to take
some days the eggs spoil it
or the salt shaker falls over
the chocolate fails to melt
or the vanilla seeps in too long
you’d want a white layer of icing
and maybe a cherry or two on top
you’d waste more than a few hours
and end up with just a mush of mess.
Life’s like a piece of cake, too
when the wet and dry mix well enough
you’d have a cake you’re proud of.

What Are We If Not Dreamers?

Like a leather bound book
That’s fancy to the eyes
Like the black velvet cloth
That wraps the wealth within
Like the shiny sheen and glow
That invites an eager hand
Perched on a shelf lies the book
Too beautiful to feel and look
I reach out a quivering hand
And hope to grab my reward
My fingers close on the cover
Imagining sturdiness all over
Alas!
It crumbles under my fingers
Of neglect through the years
Silver fish had made it home
Chipping away under the dome
Fine and glorious it looked from afar
Like men who put over dreams a bar.

What I Saw

She stood in front of a mirror, her eyes fixed on her reflection. Her lips curled into a disapproving sneer, as she cringed at what she saw.

“What do you see?”

She saw a huge brown forehead, cowering underneath bushy black side bangs. She saw a pair of sharp black eyebrows, hovering over round blue eyes.

A long nose with a pointy end and pale lips dry to the surface.

An over-stretched pored skin and a blunt chin with a dent on the side. Streaks of straight short hair tucked behind meaty ring-less ears.

She thought she saw a shadow of a cheekbone. And a pair of squared glasses enclosed in a plastic frame of black with a sliver of red.

I said nothing.

I looked at the woman who ignored drooping eyes to stay up all night nursing my chicken pox.

I looked at the woman whose eyebrows curved as she concentrated on keeping my egg yolk runny.

I looked at the woman who told me I wasn’t crazy when I wanted to get my ears pierced. The woman who stood by my side when the world turned its back on me.

And I saw the woman I cherished.

She Wanted the Life of a Poet

She wanted the life of a poet
dreamed it as perfect as a duet
vowed to stay in bounds of love
yearning, all the while, a cove
the strain tugged at her temples
whilst she hugged onto herself
the baby wailed every other hour
the kettle whistled during her slumber
her husband dragged himself home
tired from dawdling in office gossip
and screamed over the baby’s cries
that she wasn’t attentive enough.
Many a friend the pair entertained
toured the house, showcased the baby
promised to pay visits in return
it was a custom never questioned.
From baby they progressed to kids
he went away for days with busy work
the metaphors that clung to her chest
threatened to let go unless let out
but a boy and a girl were chores enough
she put pen to paper only in her mind
settled little brawls in the meantime
she wanted to be a poet with a life
got a household with a louse instead.