Thursday, 9 May 2013

"twisted hope"

Last night, I had a dream that had me thinking for hours. It wasn't a nightmare, nor was it a dream that I would call pleasant. It was just a very aberrant and abnormal set of thoughts. Today, I was attempting to tell my friends about this dream, yet I just couldn't find the right words for it, so I thought it would make for an interesting poem.


the supple age of 4
i woke to the sound of 
the man who was supposed to be 
the guide to my affections
the guard of my afflictions 
the solution to my hunger 
leave us

he left with the woman 
from down our tranquil street
who talked on the phone 
all day
all night
she wore too much eye liner 
and drank too much whiskey 

the growing age of 9
my brother's world grew dark 
and solemn 
because the girl he loved
cut up his heart 
and threw it in the ditch 

all my brother saw 
was black 
so he began to do something
at the time i couldn’t comprehend 
he initiated turning 
his wrists red
so that his world 
wouldn’t seem so dark

the blurry age of 15 
my best friend calls me at 
the early hours of the morning
telling me that her boyfriend 
with alcohol on his breathe
had kissed the other girl

the other girl with eyes
so dead
so buried
deep within hours of 
drunken mistakes and 
wasted apprehensions 

i understood nothing
as i hadn’t felt heartbreak
until the night that you were here
next to me 
and i woke up deserted 
amidst a pool of empty sheets
and twisted hope


1 comment:

  1. This was really good Antara. I like your metaphors and the way you have structured your poem so when you read it you kind of flow through it.

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