My grandma sits in front of the TV. But she doesn’t hear, Doesn’t read, Doesn’t understand. She makes out everything through sight,
By Abel Johnson Thundil3 years ago in Poets
I sit with paper and pen, Scratching my beard like an incomplete philosopher Waiting for wisdom. I sit with paper and pen
You were the clock in the bathroom, Breathed over by vapour; Unreadable, Uncared, Useless. But now, You're the water in the toilet hitting my butt
I don’t love you anymore. But the punishment for honesty Makes me lie. The pain of being honest Makes me lie. And pain;
I was a present given to someone, Wrapped in a calendar from 2001. I do not know what I am Because no one has opened me yet.
Somewhere, Tiles get wet despite curtains on bathtubs. Somewhere, Ants bump into each other, A flower fades without a window
We were little. We played hide and seek, And ran around. We used to Pinch each other, Push each other, Wipe each other's tears.
Water dripping from air coolers, A small puddle without rain. The sweeper gathering plastic bottles, Movement without wind.
Worm Finding it’s way through a doormat, A maze. Cursing it all its life. Because it was the only life He had known.
Kids not allowed to draw on walls, Women not allowed to express, Men not allowed to love. Because The walls become dirty,
I am a tree with bright flowers And dripping fruits; But there is a snake in my branches Somewhere. No one is brave enough to kill it,
Somewhere, A leaf falls. Somewhere, A puppy is run over by a car, A boy in a wheelchair looks out his window Watching other children play.