Try painting a picture with words-
show, not tell how you feel.
The intimacy of daily life,
the transient thoughts that
never are recorded formally;
A foggy evening with absolute silence,
suspense in the air
a hot cup of chocolate in your hands –
how will that appeal to you?
How will you feel in this setting?
me? I am on top of the world-
and literally, I am.
In my high rise apartment building –
it is as lonely and beautiful.
Almost Idyll, perhaps.
This poem was inspired by the Weekend Writing Prompt (word – Idyll | length limit – 84 words)
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The reason I think of him is that my mother mentioned that it is his death anniversary today. Years of looking at the black and white photo in our home, with a dry flower garland around it most days, I never realized the date. The year, I remembered – from the moment I could connect that the year on the photo was also the year I was born in.
The reason I mentioned him today was another relative being in similar pain, I heard he was before he died – he had oral cancer. My mother tells me about the days he would moan in pain and there was nothing anyone could do. There were not enough pain killers 30 years back. Nor was there any cure for him.
I do not know him enough. Just that he was a really good father, a simple honest man who died in pain, but content to see his family around him. My grandfather never saw the majority of kids of my generation in the family but my grandmother was sure, he picked us all before we left heaven to arrive on the earth.
the fading memories walking through unknown trails circling family lines
Earth, water, air, space, and void; The physical me is this combined. My mother’s lessons, my father’s hopes; my siblings imprints on my thoughts. shredding the cloak of childhood so safe, the rebellious teens paved their own way. stepping out of home, the adult me blindly searched to recognize my voice out of the air, ideas begin to emerge verses call out, mostly out of rhythm; rejecting all that is real, or should be dear words become the face of who I want to be; I become the words, the ideas, the songs grounded in clouds, I fly along.
I look forward to scorching heats and hot winds feasts of melons,mangoes and fruity cocktails with it; May is the summers that I can curse and wish gone, but not before I have made memories from trip to the hills, splashing in riverside, and the road to quick get away parties.
I look forward to this May Or perhaps, a reason to be able to love the way I did in those mountains.