Perched atop his rock
sat the jungle’s king
unimpressed.
Behind bars, we gawked.
Tag: life
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.
I Looked at Her
I looked at her
as she lay in my bed
her eyes closed in peace
slumber I never knew
the curls of her hair
sway with blowing breeze
the blond of her curls
boiled jealousy in my veins
and while she lay there
unsuspecting, unknowing
and I there, all too knowing
I reached out, couldn’t help but,
a hand to caress her tresses
she remained still as a leaf
on a windless summer’s night
as I twisted a longing finger
through her summoning swirls
but she stayed immobile as always
darling dearest, my gift, my doll.
To Define…
It’s not about studded shoes and decked dresses or dinner parties with seven wines.
It’s not about fresh bills in a Coach, Chopard on the wrist, and stacks in the account.
It’s not about lean legs, tiara-topped heads, or Louis Vuitton handbags.
It’s not about bedside pools, or poolside bars, or bayside resorts.
It’s not about dabbling in pearls, or dawdling in Rolls.
It’s not a trendy summer vacation, a honeymoon destination, or a cruising expedition.
Not about the glitter, the possessions, or positions.
It’s the hot chocolate on rainy days, the comforting book on bad days, and an extra scoop of ice-cream.
Luxury is contentment in the small things.
The Chaos Within 