A DROP OF MY SEA

Image:  Birmingham Museums Trust / Unsplash The confinement of your embrace reminds me of her confinement, in her “home.” Not because of lethargy but because of shame. The shame confined her to her restricted refuge. She became a slave, after becoming a refugee. The slave to her short-sighted desire and to the society’s cruel manner. She could go out, but the shame… The shame arising from the mundane She was a beautiful and a delicate dame but her face told a story, which wasn't the same. She didn't look like a human! She didn't look like other animals! Her face shouted the wrath it sustained. From being proud, carefree, and happy, she became just a dame full of shame. She couldn’t go out of her “kin," to even buy a pack of sanitary napkins. She couldn’t buy her child a dress and the child couldn’t kiss and cress  the shamed mother. The shame belongs to

Petroglyph left by early Native Americans.  Rock Art - Wild Horse Canyon [San Raphael Swell, Utah] - Vinceable91 Hearts from four contrasting corners connected at the centre. We grew to love the city and its delicacies,  but not its people. We learnt our way around but always found our soul attached to the ground. We plucked it together and reached a new high of life. And there we were, driving on the well-lit city roads, flying inside our hot-box, calm and quiet. Then, we flew into a dream painted by Pink Floyd, delivered by the boom-box, turning that tiny reunion into a  “concert on wheels.” There is something about legitimacy, that creates intimacy. And there is something about piracy, that creates animosity. Legitimacy is fair, for an artist, like a mother’s care. On the other hand, it’s a scare for a kind human pair. Us monkeys, don’t need a bill to t

Our saviour subject to his parents at Nazareth by John Rogers Herbert - Victorian Web Why do I have to lie? Why not? Will they believe your truth? They won't, they can't  But I wish they could What a waste of wish, on a thought that is childish? They played an immense role, at-least till you were eighteen. But in your life, like in the movies, their short appearance is over, and now, you lead it till the 'the end.' But they are my DNAs, Well, so is our African mother. and have been with me in all the chilly Januarys  and the sunny Mays. Hey, now you are mixing the two! The facts of life and the vulnerable you. How can I let them go? Who said you have to? You did! Really, did I? My apologies, then. And we should start again. When you were a child You were innocent and wild So much to learn, so much to find The truth of your life which is unique like your DNA You are theirs,