Hey guys! So whilst the weather in London has been getting better, I’ve been ill! (Yay (!) ) I’m not quite up to writing a full blog post, but like I said at the beginning of the year, I am putting out a new post on Sundays no matter what! So, here’s a little haiku about being ill. Enjoy! 🤒🤒🤒🤒
On the days that I do not love you
my love looks nothing like love.
In fact, it looks much like
in between state:
A half-working key,
an almost soundless note
pressed against my finger-tips.
New week, new poems! The writing prompt for today is:
A very small object
Priyanka means ‘beautiful’,
in a language I can call my own,
it is fun to curl next to my Culture at night,
to be able to call it home.
Many people envy that,
they do not have such a Bubble,
maybe it is because they must find their culture,
in other people’s rubble.
The roof of the house only came crashing down,
I tell them,
because one of your ancestors wanted Greed.
They wanted more than they could bargain for,
and so their limits they did exceed.
Their house grew and grew until it could fit no more,
whilst people of my culture,
were left to wash the floors.
Now, my home is beautiful,
with bright colours and small trinkets,
it has been enhanced.
Perhaps that is why the Names that live here,
are more freely able to dance.
This poem was written as part of National Novel Writing Month 2017 [Day 12, Poem #6]