Random Poem
Less than a square foot,
Paint peeling from the wall,
Stuck out of the building,
Protruded, as unwelcome as a sudden
Visitor who drains life, the balcony
Looks awkward, soot with dust. The
Net, screwed tightly into the windowpane
Misted her vision slightly. The middle age
Woman, standing with a mug of hot
Tea, its steam covered her wrinkled
Eyes, was watching her son playing
Tennis in the court. Only the ball,
Bright yellow, was visible, a sharp
Contrast to the dry-fit black shirt that
He was wearing. Grown but scrawny,
He ran backward and forward, his
Racket captured every hit precisely.
She felt a sense of pride swelling in
Her chest, and suddenly laughed at
Herself over the cliché expression.
A sense of loneliness, previously
Alien to her, choked her throat,
Clogging her voice. She wanted
To clap, but unable. She dropped
The mug of the tea on the floor.
The hot tea cleansed the dust but
She felt like an old woman, her
Prime was washed away, just as
Her son just missed the ball.
Paint peeling from the wall,
Stuck out of the building,
Protruded, as unwelcome as a sudden
Visitor who drains life, the balcony
Looks awkward, soot with dust. The
Net, screwed tightly into the windowpane
Misted her vision slightly. The middle age
Woman, standing with a mug of hot
Tea, its steam covered her wrinkled
Eyes, was watching her son playing
Tennis in the court. Only the ball,
Bright yellow, was visible, a sharp
Contrast to the dry-fit black shirt that
He was wearing. Grown but scrawny,
He ran backward and forward, his
Racket captured every hit precisely.
She felt a sense of pride swelling in
Her chest, and suddenly laughed at
Herself over the cliché expression.
A sense of loneliness, previously
Alien to her, choked her throat,
Clogging her voice. She wanted
To clap, but unable. She dropped
The mug of the tea on the floor.
The hot tea cleansed the dust but
She felt like an old woman, her
Prime was washed away, just as
Her son just missed the ball.