The Amusement Park
Blue toes & cereal skin,
My breakfast heart beats in amusement;
I steal away from yellow teeth & sobbing laughter.
A rollercoaster tongue,
She speaks in reds & oranges
Imitating sunsets drowning behind the
I speak of her as though she were a twin,
A detached limb - a wound that doesn't clot
The blood in my ink.
Maple syrup whines,
Draped in cotton candy smiles
My caramel body was never a temple;
It was always a fancy notebook, emptied behind an iceberg of hesitation.
Trench coat diaries,
Voices bubble inside my mother's beige shawl;
The twists in the cloth tighten around her bosom,
I breathe a metallic rebellion inside her throat.
Outside my window, a pigeon cooes in low volumes of warmth. It's probably a song my ears are not used to. Mother peddles into the kitchen stove, swimming in a teacup of culinary depression.
The fire goes out
In a hall of mirrors, I find my worst sins;
They look like the twists in my mother's stupid shawl,
It tightens around my bosom, around my breakfast heart that I heard this morning,
Before the world froze into a moment of thrill, a line from some lost poem wrapped in silk lies and wintery whimpers.
About the poet:
Nameera Anjum is a final year student of Political Science, based in Jaipur. Her work has appeared in a number of publications such as The Kali Project, Free Verse Revolution literary magazine, Spillwords Press, Eve Poetry Group and the Calliope Script. You can read more of her on Instagram @nameeraeverafter.