Wilted Flower

She once was adorable
for being the girl
fogets the punchline
for being clumsy
around the kitchen

Infauation put her
on a pedestal

she is intolerable
for being the same girl
forgets the punchline
She is slapped around
and called useless
for being clumsy
around the kitchen

Love is a cold vase
housing a wilted flower

Lockdown Freedom

warm sun radiates 
through the blue sky
the perfect match of
bitter coffee
and raisin toast
make an irresistible

my mind colours
the day
in happy notes
played in

imagination gives wings
hovering above
four walls
my spirit leaps
disguised as
a dragonfly

Let's go
in daylight
counting each moment
a gift
of surprise

A Battered Coin

he lost his value
battered and bruised
lying wasted in a laneway

she saw him
and was so happy
to pick him up
and make him
her luck penny

he hated to be soaked
in vinegar and salt
she scrubbed him shining
he became her treasure

Silence as Rejection

We can't communicate with silence.
Silence makes everything paused.

We can't make peace in silence.
Silence is a punishment for a decision we made.

We can't reconcile in silence.
Silence choke all the good memory we shared.
We can't celebrate the good times in our past alone.

Now you have your silence.
We have rejection.


I am not sure
if I ever
want forever

good dreams 
end in waking
real dreams
never come true

I am only sure
of this moment
if my heart 
feels warm 
and fuzzy
if my mind
is at peace

I am not sure
how to live
in tomorrows
when it comes
to the issue 
of my heart
and the matter
of love

Small Variation

This is written for The Living Poetry August visual prompt

Butterfly is a halo effect.
The B word lands on one's lips.
It becomes hope and triumph.

One should take a closer look.
Not all butterflies are born equal
or fly in resurrected freedom.
Some are more splendor in looks.
Some are midiocre at best.
Some are just ugly moths die trying hard.

Butterfly is a spectrum.
Butterfly effect lies in the small details.


This is written for Vague Souls Unite weekly prompt.

What if, the sky isn't the limit?
When the kite broke off to fly
without the string to guide
flying even higher
beyond sight
is its hope
to dance freely
without restriction
let no untrained hand to limit
its eager creativity from breaking free

The Forbidden Fruit

the cast iron farm bell calls in the fruit pickers
a wholesome lunch with colourful seasonal fruits
spreading on a quiet embroidered pastoral tablecloth

they are just a bunch of jovial young lads
scoffing down a meal
bantering as dessert

but you
you are reserved
quietly crunching on a Granny Smith
fixated on an open book
at the edge of the sun

they don't get you
you come freshly in the morning
sharp witted in a checkered shirt
with a tinge of bitterness
aloof to the rest

so they call you 'Pomelo'
somewhat endearing
and you like it
for it is forbidden


She begs the sun to bleach her brain
Too many diseases, disorders
Too much hatred and grief
She endures with them

Their trauma cuts into her green aura
Slices her past open through the bolted door
Rusty locks and cracked timber

She feels cold feet on dirty soil
The dampness of moss infested walls 
The mind torturing plop of the dripping tap
How her porcelain face longs for the gentle sun

Her world is split into two
She is the bridge, the hand 
to carry them from then to now
she resists the grip of the past
"Hold on to the warm sun" she whispers

Before her eyes
The dark shadows, dim cellar, cold winter 
fading and peeling off like chalk drawings

She begs the sun to bleach her brain
laying golden shimmers on canvas
filled with light and warmth


A proud woman got down on her knees
and cried out to God
' I can't, but You can!'
She was delivered.

Everytime she wanted to gossip,
she did the same.

The woman is no longer a gossiper.