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The Bottle of Promises and other poems

The Bottle of Promises and other poems

The Bottle of Promises


Don’t drink me —
I intoxicate.

Don’t take a sip —
the hallucinations 
of a happily ever after will
cloud your discontent.

When you wake up 
your head will hurt.
Your stomach will clench in pain.
You will be hung-over.

Don’t. Please. 
Please. Don’t.

Oh dear. What a shame.
You didn’t listen.



Seasons


Tears 
   p p 
   o o 
   u u 
   r  r 
like heavy rainfall on my
windshield. My hands refuse
to wipe off the racing droplets. 

A week later —
the showers dwindle. 
A light drizzle here 
and              

                                 there.  
Pain clings like a 
barbed blanket of fog.

Memories will begin to fall
one leaf at a time
once the storm has passed. 


The Transaction


Our home,
our room,
our books,
our memories.
 
Transaction completed —
his home,
his room,
his books,
my memories.
 
Surprisingly, his
massive recliner
was carried off
effortlessly, 
while I could
barely raise my ghost.


Reading             


A mango’s skin
peeled lightly, carefully.

An oil container 
dehydrated of its contents.

A bag of wheat 
dusted of its final granule.

All its words
poured, preserved  
in my mind,  

I hum my book,
my anthem, 
until the next one.



My Room


I want 
A wardrobe that hangs my uncreased happiness
A drawer that stores my despair, do not open 
A dustbin where I toss my anger
A shredder for guilt
A shelf that displays trophies of resilience
A desk where I mull over my fears
A painting that covers my scars
A corner to read solitude
A mirror that accepts 
A sink to wash away self-doubt
A bleach bottle for anxiety
Windows that see but don’t covet 
A bookshelf of experience
A shower of love
A tap of flowing support
I want my room. 


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