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  • Writer's pictureupasana2007

Updated: Mar 22, 2020

A tiny tendril escapes

From the yellow -brown stalk

Life salvaged from nearly-crumbling-into-the-soil

I smile triumphant

I think of my mother

And her fifty-three pots

Of lilies, orchids, roses

Even a patch of tomatoes

Behind the outhouse

The sparkle of her eyes

Lovingly caresses those lives

Tending them the same way she has

The lives from her womb

We flew away from the nest

Barren soil of emptiness

And she planted a garden of petunias

In the soil damp with longing

A sprinkle of prayers for all her children

We got our own plants to keep alive

But while my plants often shrivel and die

Of thirst and neglect

Hers sprout magnificent

Under her warm smile

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  • Writer's pictureupasana2007

Updated: Mar 7, 2020

You make words

Like silver drops

In the crevices of an ocean

And poems of old

Cinnamon mingled honey

And in the folds

Of your eyes

Your dreams float

And I watch them.

Are we dancing?

Because it feels like

I’m swaying to the tune

your lips bleed

And I’m hanging

On to your words

As if a thread strung

Between alive

And madness.

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  • Writer's pictureupasana2007

I haven’t changed the bedsheets

In the seven days since you left

The scent of your skin

Still lingers

Like ocean spray

On my hair

In the folds of the cloth remain

Memories of our entwined

limbs, dreams, stories

The shadows of your empty words

The nostalgia of your eyes

Nothing lasts forever

So we never made promises

We always knew

We will never be

And started with Goodbyes

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