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Below is the poem of the day entitled Oval which was written by poet
Aaliyah
O'Neil.
An oval shape—a ghostly pane,
A frame of whispers, soft refrain.
It hung in quiet, out of view,
Where silence slept and shadows grew.
I glimpsed “the oval window, a portal to another dimension,”
A whispered truth beyond convention.
Glass like jelly, thin and wide,
With golden veins that pulsed with pride.
It shimmered soft in dusty air,
As if it knew I’d someday dare.
I pressed my face and felt the tug—
A velvet yank, a quantum hug.
Through space unstitched, my atoms curled,
And spilled into a confused world.
The sky was plaid and sang in chords,
Clouds played chess with talking boards.
A sun rolled by on squeaky wheels,
Chased by moons with citrus peels.
The trees were made of steel bones,
Their leaves composed of dial tones.
They spoke in clicks and humming chimes,
Barked headlines from olden times.
A caterpillar wore a suit,
Arguing ethics with a flute.
A bus flew past with wings of lace,
Stops announced in outer space.
The buildings leaned yet stood with grace,
Each doorway led to stranger place.
One held a café run by crows,
Who served haikus in your nose.
I met a chair that pondered fate,
And told me, “Sit before it’s late.”
A fish explained the price of doubt,
While paddling through my thoughts throughout.
Laws were loose, yet oddly tight,
Where wrong felt wrong but also right.
Where time wore shoes and danced in place,
And mirrors showed your inner face.
The rain wrote in cursive script,
While thunder hummed in jazz and crypt.
Each lightning bolt did grin and strike
Where daydreams bloom and rules dislike.
A dragon sold umbrellas cheap,
Claiming he hadn’t learned to sleep.
He traded tales for half a yawn,
Slept in pixels just past dawn.
An alley wound like thought itself,
Lined with clocks that ticked in stealth.
Each second held a scent, a tune—
Some smelt like soup, some hummed like June.
I saw a whale made out of sighs,
Who flew beneath the grammar skies.
It told me truths I didn't keep,
Then sank below a field of sheep.
I tasted colours, spoke in stars,
Drew maps from dreams and bottled jars.
I danced with logic in disguise,
And kissed a pun beneath the skies.
But then the pane began to dim,
Its edges blurred, the borders grim.
A voice said, “Time to head on back,”
Snapped the world to perfect black.
I woke in dust, alone once more,
The attic still, the wooden floor.
Yet in my palm, a shimmer glowed—
A thought the window had bestowed.
It calls to me in twilight’s tune,
Hums at dusk, sighs at noon—
I’ll go again, and very soon.
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