Thryaksha

Kissed his head, smiling, Giving her all, for him only, She laid him down, Bundled him in his blankets. She stood up, Raking a hand through her hair, Exhaustion seeping in, Through the web of her veins. Her loose shirt hanging, Off her frail frame, She walked to her wall, Hands on her hips.  'Buy milk',  She read off it, Nodding to herself, She owed the store a visit. Sitting on the couch, Tapping away on her laptop, Her eyes blurry, She reached for coffee.  'Buy milk', she recalled, As her feet took her weight, Can't leave him alone, no, She can't leave him alone. She took a deep breath, As she heard a muffled cry, Coming from the baby, Hurrying to get to him. An hour later, He was on her hip, As he kissed her cheek, Her buying milk...

No more staples, Papers flying about, No one to hold her, She fluttered about. No rock to hold, She drifted like a river. No medicine to cure her, She was slowly dying. - She smiled to herself, As she went through the verse, Making something out of nothing, Like she always did.  - No more staples, Papers flying about, She picked them up, Humming to herself.. 

As I was alone in the night, I looked up into the sky The stereo rang out loud, Into the quiet breeze. My lips shaped the words, As I lay on the grass, Words falling out of me, As if by themselves. Reminiscing each night, It was a quotidian routine, Singing these songs, As I lulled myself to sleep. Only part I’d left, Of a love that had once been, The only part true enough, I didn’t let away from me. Listening to him play, I felt we were close again, A dream or blatant hope, Mixing in me. As the song ended, I willed myself to believe, His perfect note was all the perfection, That I’d ever need..

The box lay closed, Forgotten by her, Under her stack of things, Thrown carelessly aside. Had she opened, She’d find books, Diaries of writing, Writings by her sister. Her late sister. The one she mourned, As each day passed. The one who left. The cardboard box, Taped and secured, Held her secrets, Her heart’s whispers. Had she opened, The box on time, She could’ve saved, Her sister’s life. Instead she sipped coffee, Cup she placed close, To the box of magic. Not close enough. A month later, Tears streaked her face, As she moved about things, Uncovering it at last. She sat down, heaving, The box onto the floor, Dusting the label, Reading her sister’s name on it. She pulled out books, Wrapped in satin, So delicate, She opened them. Olivia’s diaries, Filled with abstracts, Loneliness so silent, It was deafening. She laid them, shaking, Picking a letter white, Addressed to her, In pretty slant.  “I miss you”,  It read,  “I need you,  Call me.” The next word, Made illegible

Hey everyone. So, I decided to take a challenge with poetry prompts. So, I'll post one everyday. Hope y'all stick with me :)

Hey, hope everyone's doing good. I'm Thryaksha, and I write poetry. I decided to show them the light of day with this blog. I would love to take you on this journey of words with me, being the logophile I am. All the love, T