The Poetry Marathon

A glimpse of the moon

Bobbing up and down, gleaming

Staring at the lake.

In all its glory

Lustrous, serene, unconcerned.

Commotion below.

Panic strikes again

canopies topple over

Kids trapped underneath.

I would love to call even a dilapidated house my home

but I’m simply a vagrant

(though I do prefer “wanderer” more).

I lack roots, and I cherish nowhere, so I tend to merely roam.

It’s not as pitiful as the picture paints

since, I tend to see what many miss.

I can boast about seeing new-born red speckled crabs

scrambling for the shore line, scuttling like little saints.

Along my journeys countless chubby children (tiny in size),

have ogled in wonder at my tattered overalls

and seashell strewn chain that hangs delicately on my neck.

Their eyes widening with astonishment and envy at the glee hidden in my eyes.

It’s a life like no other- wearisome yet bewitching.

They miss out on fiery skies blazing with salmon pink and orange

and the devious secrets, frigid winds sometimes whisper.

Textbooks don’t teach languages, like the ones rustling palm trees speak.

People don’t know the feel of a hard canvas tent

whose motherly comfort protects you, from the cruel elements.

While they dine on “instant meals”, I eat zesty tropical fruits,

a bite so divine and saccharine. A present.

I use red cherries for lipstick and roasted almond butter for cream.

My perfumes, hand crafted from chestnuts and Plumerias

I have caught and cooked sardines over wooden fires,

Every bite so scrumptious and tender. A daydream.

It’s not so grueling as one makes it to be.

After all, I have seen an iridescent butterfly emerging from a cocoon

and have touched a baby giraffe’s nose.

I can tell apart a Golden-headed Manakin’s lullaby. Indeed, a beauty.

And when the night settles in,

the clouds that float aimlessly like deflated balloons,

act like soft pillows for my heavy head to rest.

The stars shining light as if I were an angel- a Bedouin

No words can ever convey

how exquisitely happy I am.

No words can ever convey

the gratitude that bursts from my heart

trying to crawl its way back to you.

Nervousness and anxiety

perpetually wedged within me

was only repressed by you.

Like a surgeon operating on a patient

It was you who soothed the rhythmic pounding in my head.

You trained my eyes to watch out for the smallest details

details that would always bring joy.

Liking taking a blindfold of

I could finally see.

Finally breathe.

Heat prickled my toes,

wind ruffled my hair,

I was no longer isolated.

Alone and afraid.

Rather your lullabies (that were almost soporific) cradled me like a child.

If only I could tell you this

but

because in lending me your eyes,

you went blind.

In lending me your ears,

you went deaf

and now all that left, is a shell of who, I used to once know.

Only a shell.

Canary yellow

and cherry red straw sun hats

fluttering in the wind now.

Vibrant flower pots

decorate the veranda,

green shoots blooming.

Sunshine falls below

white umbrellas snap open

roast on the deck chairs.

Indigo kites soar,

children explode with delight

infectious laughter.

Never forget your mother’s love

She struggles and strives for you alone

Clothes on your back. Shoes on your feet

Do you not remember how you have grown?

She struggles and strives for you alone

Whipping up chicken curry to fill your tummy

Do you not remember how you have grown?

She even clapped at your terrible acting, saying, “it was funny!”

Whipping up chicken curry to fill your tummy

Never complaining, always on her feet

Pausing to clap with you saying, “your funny!”

How her back must have ached, her body bone-tired

And yet every morning she wakes up just to hear “mummy”.

-dedicated to my mother

A primal scream

 a desperate need

raw urgency resounds.

The air so thick and heavy,

one can falter and drown.

Skin

craving cuddles,

heart

yearning for love,

bones,

desiring a pause.

To stop.

Round and round,

go up, go down.

Stretched too thin.

Too far.

Elastic bands

will eventually snap.

The Hooke’s law I learned

taught me so.

This is not

a “cliché misunderstanding”.

But

reality- a world I live in.

One you live in.

However,

Your voice is always heard.

Loud. Clear. Boisterous.

Mine will never be.

Even with a microphone

since,

no one stops

to listen.

This is not some

“cliché misunderstanding!”

The train arrives and we get on quickly. All of us in our best dresses, tight bows in our curly hair. We try to ignore the shoving and jostling, as we talk to each other in half-murmured whispers. An aura of solemnity cloaking us, distinctly setting us apart from the jolly crowd.

Debby, my little sister stood silently hugging the train’s railing. When we arrived, she cried. A deep sense of rawness pouring out as her salty tears crumbled all her walls. Our mother stood clasping my arm as deep sobs wrack her body. Everyone attempted to hide their grief.

Street cats chase us out. Mom feeds them bread, scratching their furry heads and tummies playfully. Dad used to do that.

I think they know.

They snarl and hiss at me, baring their white teeth, hair on edge. Mom’s furious face is pointed at me.

I think she knows too.

Hidden in soft mist

Oak coffin buried

Church bells echoing

Connecting us in ways we’d only once dream about.

Offering an opportunity to say “hi” to those we forgot.

Allowing us to see the smiling faces of loved ones,

who lived on different continents and spoke different tongues.

We delved into the world of the “internet”.

Scouring thousands of posts,

knowledge filtering through our brains-

gaining information everywhere from Australia to Spain.

Infinite possibilities in medicine and IT,

Science and forecasting as easy as 1,2,3.

Silver, grey and microscopic chips plating our homes,

attaching to us all, accommodating to our lifestyles

and possibly in the future- our chromosomes.

“Horseback through the mountains,

Trek up the hills,

Use a kayak through the churning rivers.”

Those were the rules given- at the bus stop by the water fountains.

Dehydration and exhaustion,

our two main foes.

Spinning heads and aching bones

yet we go on, ignoring precaution.

Sweating profusely,

foreheads furrowed with fatigue.

Strained muscles lacking strength or stamina

Shall we go on? Absolutely.

An amber orb, waltzes daintily in the sky,

drowning in the orange streaks above the horizon.

Light slithers away,

relinquishing its claim over the terrain with a cry.

Malevolent shadows,

hide in every nook and cranny

waiting silently for darkness

to make its grand entrance, to propose.

The tawny expanse

evolves into a dark blanket

of shimmery blues and blacks-

glimmering specks of romance.

Gossamer clouds hide under gauze veils

and galaxies glitter like uncut diamonds fit for a wedding ring.

Mulberry paints the sky,

the colours swirling to form spectacular images and tales.