Invisible Ropes .

original

Words don’t come to me,
whilst my heart aches for expression.

How long shall we be caged in?
How long until we fly away?

The infinite skies are calling out;
And here we sit as prisoners of life.

Invisible are these ropes,
and invisible are these wounds.

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My Mother .

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We are breathing miles apart,
But I still remember my mother.

I remember her,
not like I remember all those people
from years ago.
People who come and go.
I remember my mother,
like I remember my alphabets.
And like I remember my numbers.

I remember her beautiful smile,
and every freckle on her face.
I remember the golden earrings
that were so dear to her,
she’d never change.

I remember her voice;
her voice that changed from
anger to love in moments.
I remember her beatings,
the way she would express her annoyance,
trying so hard to hide her disappointment.

I remember her fingers,
that were slightly bent,
because there were stitches on them.
I remember every place she had hurt herself.
The stitches on her arm,
and the one on her forehead.
And I remember every story
behind them, and the pain that I had tried to feel
when she recounted them to me.

I remember her warm hugs,
and the smell of her skin against my nose.
The kind of fragrance
that I couldn’t find in a bottle.

It comes back to me sometimes,
on lonely nights, when I’m tired of life,
and I walk out to the balcony,
trying to picture her in the black of the sky.

It comes back to me, when I realize how
every sight in the world I’ve seen,
and every person I’ve made memories with,
could never match that feeling
I used to get, lying on my mother’s lap,
wishing I could perfectly fit in there again.