In my closet I hide,
Lock the door tight.
Sit down on the carpeted floor,
Holding a pencil to write.
The walls cold as ice,
On this snowy night,
Sneer down upon me.
As I lower my head and close my eyes.
I hum a song to ease the restless mind,
It’s time to get to work tonight.
Tag: poetry
Today
Today, I will rise and stretch like a cat.
Yawn real loud and open my mouth as wide as I can.
Draw open the curtains and smile.
Embrace the warmth of sunshine.
Today, I will not worry about the mistakes of yesterday.
I will start the day by being kind to myself and the people around me.
I will take time to work on a hobby that brings me joy.
I will be thankful and show gratitude for what surrounds me.
Today, is going to be another day away from family and friends
I will not crib or complain,
I will tell myself to hold on to hope.
As in my heart they are not far away.
It’s all about selfies and videos,
Vlogs and insta posts,
Attention span is dropping to low!
Really, where do the writers go,
Do people even read anymore?
If you have to get obsessed, then obsess over,
reading books without any breaks
walking for hours without knowing where you’re going
watching the stars and wondering how it would be like to be in space
playing with animals and taking care
obsess over loving yourself every single day.
Lingering feelings,
Scattered thoughts,
Hover in stillness of the room.
A warm yellow light
Swelling an air of melancholy.
Miss Dizzy
I hit snooze again,
Not once, not twice, bloody 14 times.
Groggy as a drunken monkey,
Slithering like a dazed slug.
Is this still a dream?
I sit down and wonder.
Eyes droopy, head foggy.
I feel like a zombie.
Mum slaps my hand and stares at me.
I growl at her, grumpily.
This day isn’t going to go real well.
No, don’t you tell me to go back to sleep again!
I will make myself coffee,
Turn down the lights,
Listen to some jazz,
Bask in this glorious grogginess,
And work, alright?
A Lost Snowflake
It was a phase,
When the little girl loved snowflakes.
Nose pressed to the window pane,
She spent hours gazing at swirling flurries,
Gently breezing through the skies,
Softly and quietly covering the world in white.
Now that phase has passed,
Her tiny flakes of joy are lost,
The girl has turned cold as frost.
She finds the snow miserable and utterly cold.
“A dazzling waste of time!”
As she pulls down the window blinds,
A snowflake silently glides
Rekindling the light in her eyes.
There’s a Story Behind Every Door.
A rustic wooden door,
An old forgotten home with broken walls and bricks,
Dried lifeless plants turned crispy and brown in broken pots.
Does anyone live inside?
It looks like it,
There’s a broomstick outside.
Probably, an old woman?
Probably, a family with too many mouths to feed?
Probably, a man who waited too long for his loved one to drop by?
Probably, a recluse content within himself?
Who knows..
What is the story,
Behind this mysterious attractive door.
Sunshine on the way
Drooping low,
With all that snow.
Hang in there, leaves!
Overhear
Deep, longing notes,
A slow melody.
Stirring emotions,
Sadly beautiful.
Picking up pace,
Hurried but serious,
Like a wave,
Rushing and reaching
Towards an unknown.
Confused thrumming of strings
Discovering and learning,
Experimenting even..
But never hesitating.
A sound of a human voice,
Calling, reaching out.
Smooth and blessed
Sounds like harmony.
A peaceful rhythm.
Nuraine Sadaf 