i sit beside a soft
sky blue curtain
as i face the monitor
and i am taking the pains
of sight
i decide to stretch my
hands to the
ceiling
and breathe
deep and take my gaze
beyond this
old glass window
out there is the old house
that i see here
everyday
the caretaker
has taken the weeds this morning
and the land appears
naked
as some trees are
cut to give way to a
space of
sunshine
the rusty grills and
roof tops are
newly painted
a face-lift of
an insignificant landscape
of a house and
mini
forest
despite these new
mechanics
there is nothing
significant in this day
i go back to work
concentrate on my fingers
tire my brain
and think that i should not have
been
swayed by
small outbursts of
emotions which should not
have interfered
in my
bread and butter thing
i am split and
two faced and i feel like i am
a Picasso painting of
a woman
who is afraid to
focus in one
direction
i like to be a bust of
a hero
staring at anyone who
pass me and
give them that sense of
guilt
that the real mission
and the noble purpose
of life
is always
unaccomplished
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem