Teacher, shall I write a sonnet? Must I?
When I’m not so sure of my poetry…
Shall I write a poem of fourteen lines?
In iambic pentameter –by me?
What shall I write about? What can I say?
In this sonnet which I must jot down now?
My sonnet should be about what today?
To write a great sonnet I’m not sure how…
Teacher, can I write this sonnet later
For I’m not sure of what to write about?
The teacher then takes my simple paper
And “you already did.” my teacher shouts.
‘Detention’ my teacher says, ‘for lying,’
‘But thank you,’ she adds, ‘for at least trying.’
© Mariam Mababaya.
Where were you when my world fell apart?
The Sun darkened and the Moon just fled.
All had been done and all had been said.
And ripped to shreds was my beating heart.
Even the Seas began to part.
And the Mountain tops spread.
I lay there completely dead.
Even the Stars I could not chart.
If only you knew,
If only you were there,
If only you had a clue!
If only life had been fair!
I’d turn the clocks back,
Still standing dead in my track!
A nightmare that always lurks in my mind
A jumble of thoughts I cannot fathom
Making me distorted, confused, and blind
My monsters are chanting their own anthem
Over again I can no longer bare
They drag me down to terrifying depths
But it leaves me grasping at the air
Choking me, taking away all my breaths
I'm screaming but there is no one around
I'm scared of failure, just simply nervous
They say they can fix me, but I can't be found
I'm starting to think trying is worthless
And as I awoke from my horrid dream
I realize no one is who they seem.
Two windows closing little by little
Brittle materials be blamed for weakness
Buzz might break them off, possibly wiggle
Prolonging the boredom of her highness.
Can’t wait for blackout; freedom can be found
Ironic how simple bliss may come in
Murmur of the wind is an intense sound
This topsy-turvy world causes no grin.
Perhaps her highness craves a sweet winter
Double expectations must not be failed
Melted creation will disappoint her
Still, being anywhere but here is hailed.
That’s it for today; tomorrow again
Just hold on; she’ll close the windows by then.
It's just one o'clock
On Sunday A.M.
And my thought process
Is getting quite slim
Eyelids are heavy,
Red colored, and rimmed.
Its now one-oh-two
On Sunday A.M.
December 18, 2012
Beautiful lies known as little white lies
yet one is no more deceptive than each
The truth is what makes it afraid of light
It's important we practice what we preach
Imagination built on lies destroy
Imagination built on truth create
Conquering evil we try to avoid
Tooth fairy, Halloween, Santa abate
Perceptions and images make it real
Origins of Pagan rituals true
We've wandered down this path for a bum deal
Now more lies are created all brand new
The mask behind a beautiful white lie
is the truth with a constant shield, but why?
Is my life not tortured enough for you to see?
I am broken as can be.
My heart is torn.
My tears stain these perfect floors.
Why are singing with glee?
Why do you not care about my every plea?
I am trapped in your arms.
I am the hopeless moth.
How did you pick me?
What is it that you see?
A girl untouched by life?
A flower blooming in the desert?
I have said goodbye to my loving integrity.
You took that from me through R-A-P-E.
Started in the season of buds and sweets
Ended after a course as the sun sets
Full of doubts from assorted tricks and treats
A departure is as good as it gets.
Flashing on the thoughts of once a timid
A few Zs are enough to bring pleasure
Could not blink at how stress becomes rigid
Situation calls for a strong measure.
Being used to this torture brings comfort
Ironic as the reasoning may seem
Ignorance is the delay of some sort
Though bitterness stands as it goes extreme.
Taking a walk is a sequel to gain
Another phase is eager for no pain.
Looking back, the timid grew social wings
Mimicked those of butterfly’s and dragon’s
Alights on the spot where others’ smog clings
This becomes one of daily traditions.
Indebted for the wisdom of mentors
Who prevailed upon with supreme concern
Never had given up hope as the source
Truly mastered the mix of mild and stern.
And yet leaving has been contemplated
Personal growth needs to be magnified
Epiphany has been compensated
Being torn by progress and warmth that died.
Halfhearted with the decision that’s made
Still, such recurrence if the timid stayed.