Ending

A hallway freshly emptied
Of people matured since their introduction.
A scratchy bowl
Holding keys to
Decades of Memory.
A dark room, a table
And a broken man standing alone.
Blood tainting the frozen ground
Spreading pink snow.
A brother holding the mangled body
Of a sister.
The East wind whipping
Around two men.
And to think it all started from
Three children breathing again
After seven years of war.

-A

Relief

A phone call.
My mother’s voice that seeps
With the same relief that fills me.
And when the red button is pushed
And everything is silent
My world tightened around my eyes,
The crashing heartbeat waves,
My first untensed breaths
In months.
A small bright hope
Chips away at
The cloying coagulated hopelessness.
An unwilling smile,
That dares to appear.
Calm. Relief.

-A

Bride

A bride sees before her,
A new life in a new home
And a new person to share it with.
So it is unfortunate
When kohl-lined eyes
That should be seeing dreams
Of happy days,
Hold only desperation
Dread for her tomorrow
That is written with ink,
And resignation for the fate
She cannot change.

-A

Direction

There is a tug of war.
I am being pulled
In two ways.
My dreams have taken hold
Of my semi-opened wings
And pull furiously
In the direction of the sky.
My friendships penetrate my roots
Holding too tight,
Unwilling to let go,
Keeping me with them
For as long as they want me.
I want to cut ties and fly,
It is no question which way
I thirst for.
It is a question, though,
If I have the courage
To break free.

-A

The First Man

He looked down at the girl
Whose eyes were searching
For the other man in her life.
She had changed over the years,
He realised,
From the little one,
Whose temper tantrums
And cries of “Lift me, Appa!”
Echoed in the streets,
To the mature woman standing before him,
Who didn’t need to be picked up,
And lead him instead,
As they crossed the same street.
One thing remained the same, though.
Her grip on his hand,
And on her innocence, on love,
Remained as strong as it was
When she first grasped his finger.

-A

Reserved

It’s just,
I am not what they call
A “people’s person”.
I don’t call,
I don’t make an effort
To keep in contact,
I try to avoid small talk
Which does nothing for me.
I am introverted.
I am hypocritic.
I am insecure.
I need others to reach for me,
Just to know that they want me.
I am all these vices.
But know this.
If you matter to me,
You will be in my heart.
And nothing can wear that corner out,
Not time, distance, or the world.

-A (@firstdraftpoet on twitter)

Tragic

Coming here was a tragic event:
Leaving home behind,
I was going to live
A stranger among strangers
For three years of my life.
Now as I walk away,
I hide my tears
From the strangers
Who have become my family.
Leaving, I realise,
Is as much a tragic event
As coming here.

-A (@firstdraftpoet on twitter)

Sunday

As the sound of the rolling wheels
Grow distant,
And I lie here,
Coffee forgotten,
And my loved ones leave me
Once again,
The dust showers onto everything
Through the sunlit doorway.
It’s just another sunday afternoon.

-A (@firstdraftpoet on twitter)

Mourning

I cry.
Tears break out of the restraints
That I have been forcing on them
For eons it seems.
And nested in the cocoon,
The right wall of which,
Is my mother,
And the left wall,
Father,
I cry.
Here is the only place
That I can relax my muscles
That constantly hold up
The walls around my heart,
Here, where my parents
Lay next to me,
Comforting me,
And momentarily losing sight
Of their own animosity,
As their child weeps.
I remember a funeral.
I remember mother weeping
As her own parent
Was carried away.
I cannot look my father in the eye
Whenever I remember this.
The memory brings on more tears.
When I have wept through,
And I am unburdened of this baggage
That had been picked up
In bits and pieces
Since my last breakdown,
They are still there,
And their hands are curled together
Over my stomach,
And together, as one mass,
We fall asleep.

-A (@firstdraftpoet on twitter)

Strangers

Sometimes you don’t need
Someone who’s life began
In the same gamete
As yours did.
Sometimes
You find your family
Your siblings
Your parents
In the faces of Strangers.
These strangers
Will cross your path
One day.
All you have to do
Is wait.

-A