The Poetry Marathon

Hands

A complex system of phalanges, muscles and nerves

Graceful, dexterous, strong

Brittle, fragile, frozen

Basted with invisible snowflakes

These fingers have pinched flames

But fall prey to frostbite

I do not want this manicure.

Perfect magnolias

Each petal precisely bloomed

A satin ribbon trails

The colour of golden cream

Every inch you step

Takes you a little bit further

From me? to me?

But I gave you legs

Use them

My hands will always be here

To replace my apron strings.

A cold draft whisks through the open window

Pungent odours waft through the kitchen

I don’t mention the after smell

Like a party gone sour

That seeps into jackets and sweaters

I don’t mention the after dishes

When bowls and pans teeter in the sink

I don’t mind,

It’s your house too

But do you really need to make your Thai-style

Stew with pineapples

At 10 pm?

A white light shines on me
Its fluorescence harsh, unyielding
Like a thousand tiny needles stabbing their points into my pupils
The room is a tomb
With clicks and taps
Breaking its sanctity

Clawed fingers grapple at the keys
Rambling, pausing, rambling again
Uncaring of the destination
Till one or the other gives in
Is this deranged
Or just the signs of a healthy relationship

Hey there! I’m a budding writer/dreamer looking for some magic in the world. In my quest, sometimes amazing things happen in the form of stories or poetry. Here’s to sharing!

https://writemagic99.wixsite.com/thewritemagic