When it rains I bake
A sponge cake.
To relish with
A hot cup of tea.
Tag: poem
Calls the Piano
I heard a melodious tune
A passage of notes on the piano
Soft, smooth, and grave
It seemed like a familiar piece of music
Like the one that plays
With the chords of your heart
Like the one that arouses
Many hidden emotions
Which then come flowing out
Like a pouring rain.
On the Streets of Paris
‘Twas the wretched dream again.
Reminding me of a glorious day,
A time that my memory refuses to forget.
‘Twas a balmy summery day.
I wandered the streets of Paris again.
Where the trees bloomed decorously
Casting shadows on empty lanes.
There were bustling shops selling
Tiny trinkets and many souvenirs.
Parisian buildings were everywhere.
With the prettiest-looking artistic balconies
I stopped a moment to absorb the view
Then, ended up clicking just a photo of you
– A fallen abandoned leaf by my feet.
Kidding,
Light seeped in
Through a cracked window
Illuminating the room.
Paint brushes and stained cloth
Lay scattered on the
Greying dusty wooden floor.
An artist worked tirelessly
Somewhere in a corner.
A sad melody hummed in the air
In the hopeful season of spring
The spirit of gaiety is locked away.
Of a Book
Drowsy eyes
Read the same lines
Over and over.
Dustful Dreams
Yesterday, he called me in my dreams
Strolling in the dark green meadows
I turned around to look at him
Then walked away.
Next thing I know,
He is by my side
Giggling and questioning me with his eyes.
So I stop and ask, “Who are you?”
To which he replied “Your daemon.”
Self Isolation
The day was long and cold.
Not a soul to whisper a word or two.
“Oh how long will this go on?”
She sighed and complained
While absently stirring her pot of porridge.
A troubled mind
Became a cause of my misery
A hurtful racist remark
Made me doubt the sanity of humanity.
Stereotyping
It doesn’t matter where you are from
We all have faults of our own.
Lend a helping hand when you can
There’s no point kicking someone into a hole.
Nuraine Sadaf 