Swollen ties swallowed by open-throated collars
You sit there, pretending to be professional
Like children playing charades and make-believe

I lie quiescent, flung by impetuous hands
Your waxen doll, moving to your whim
Braving your twisted flaming hoops

Candle-wax tears melt down these glassy cheeks
But my plastic mouth cannot move
I wait silently for you to tire of your games


[ This is a poem that I had written almost a year ago. Three vague paragraphs hardly count as poetry, but it was a relief to post anything at all, after this long hiatus… But I was struggling with exams and the worst case of writer’s block I’ve ever had. It also didn’t help that my brother re-formatted my laptop without my permission. I’m still coping with my loss.
(They always say that everything will be the same. Empty promises).
Anyway, happy holidays! Here’s to that familiar summer holiday ennui…Cheers! ]



11 responses to “Frustration

  1. i believe that this is indeed poetry. Poetry is meant to be a play of words and you’ve done well, in my opinion. I am no expert. I am also struggling in the art of poetry but i have created a vivid image of those 3 “vague” paragraphs you’ve written.

    Like underlings under the command of their boss, they cannot talk back because they believe they have no right but to simply follow the strings attached.

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