By Divinia Mercy Tynsong
Cookies crumbs flirting my palms
Clinging as if to leave no more;
I am writing this to you,
Whilst sipping my morning coffee,
In the pre- afternoon
I peep at the beep- beep cars along the road from my window,
Not an early bird, certainly
But sure enough to make it before noon.
My coffee's colour.
Suits perfectly with a plate of crackers
Only if they could prattle,
Of how much they go along with each other,
Perhaps, shall herald happy hums of chatter.
Meanwhile the curtains bellowed in the air,
Strokes the naked window.
A kiss from its soft lips,
Smitten the heart of this admirer
If these love birds could speak,
Their words will mend better
Much more than a potter's dry clay with water
Meanwhile it is the midst of March,
18th
noon
precisely
When the sun attributes its best character,
The birds chirps more louder
Than the last time I could remember;
Everywhere, here and there
Blossoms blush, happy lush.
Tik-tik Tak-tak,
Life's hours flits by
With a little sigh,
Phew! The pots by now should be ready, With potatoes, spinach, tomatoes and broccolis;
Meanwhile the hour has arrived,
When we sit down at the table to fulfil our tummies.
Yo-ho-ing here and there,
Heard to me vividly clear.
Things move rapidly,
As easy as it may seems to me
But indebted for someone like me.
Someone who attends changes frequently,
Like keeping an eye on the boiling milk in a pot before it could get to the brim and flood.
Someone who couldn't figure out the Why's?, the How's?, or the What's after?
Of the times ahead, or maybe a moment later.
Is it okay to not fathom?
Why the need for unclear, translucent moments to share?
To not figure out the What's? and the Why's?
Why I? Why me? What will I do? or What shall I be?
Let alone the what's and why's raise themselves
Whispered the dust in my room, who are my cheerleaders in the battlefield of silence
They, who had spent their entire existence
Searching for a home, a mother, a father, a brother and a sister
Whilst kissing my bedroom as orphans today and maybe, day after.
Let them figure out unmarried, they say
For everything is not always gigantic
As they may appear to be;
They're masked in disguise of uneasiness, An evil curse which holds back you and me.