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.
Tag: people
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.
Life Goals
She was twenty-five already, and all friends were settled for life. A high-earning fiancée, a well-planned wedding, a fancy honeymoon, and a lifetime ahead of baking and eating. They had the money, they had the luxe, they had the looks. When days were free, they went to the movies, shopped for love, and selfied their vanity. Life was busy.
She still lived in a dingy lone apartment. She’d wake up each morning, work out, walk to work, get worked up, and walk back home to her books. Some weekends she’d get drunk and binge on Friends. And when she felt like it, she trekked untrodden ways and chased sunrises. Life was good.
Talk About Health
They say it’s unhealthy
if you eat too healthy
but what am I to do
when everything I do
makes me fat as a cat
stuffed inside a hat
but what am I to do
there’s so much ado
apples, pears are body shapes
kale and fads, women of shams
it’s all just a scam
all I want is some ham
to stuff in my fancy bread
that’s all grain, oat, and dread
Oh, what’s the point of dieting
If it’s about hiding your craving?
Understanding Metamorphosis
I’m not sure what brought it up, but a colleague mentioned Franz Kafka wrote the saddest stories ever. A pathos fan myself, my interest was piqued. My colleague recommended and lent me the ebook version of Metamorphosis, a supposed stunner.
It was a small book, and I managed to tolerate reading it on a screen. I finished it last night and gave it a two-star rating on Goodreads. And then I scrolled through reviews to see what other readers had said thought about the book. I was stunned; a lot of people had given four or five stars, and words like “wonderful,” “amazing,” “deep,” and “emotional” jumped out at me.
I scratched my head. Huh?
It was as if they had read a different book altogether. I wondered if my copy had been just the preface, and if there was more to the tale than I had read.
I had expected dramatic change, something that would topple the lives of all the characters. I know all that did happen, still, it was too matter-of-fact, like.
It’s not that I didn’t like the story, but I didn’t see what the big deal was. It was well written, sure. It had an uncanny plot, yes. And an unconventional ending. But other than that, I didn’t feel the sadness ebbing from the words, I wasn’t moved to tears, my eyes didn’t burn, my nose didn’t stream, and my neck didn’t hurt from crouching.
It was a good story with a beautiful narrative. It wasn’t gripping or as sad as I had hoped. Nevertheless, the comments on Goodreads unsettles me. I feel almost inhuman not seeing what’s so intriguing about the book.
Have you read Metamorphosis? Pray tell, what did I miss?
