this house is a mess;
stylish clothes, privileged devices,
old toys that once upon a time
made us all happy and shaped our hearts
cover the entire floor
like a sad carpet that knows it all;
stories, secrets, and memories.
now, thwarted by time,
abandoned by the nonsensical new
though, we’re here lounging away
it’s a lazy afternoon, with the
powerful sun being clever to
hide the truth
for the soft breeze of wind
is damp and cold
I’m sleeping on the floor
as my mother caresses my hair
she, too, is on a reverie mood
while grief entertains her
with an uplifting song.
my sister browses through
her screen
showing me the wonder of the
world’s game
she’s proud to have understood its
mischief and corruption
she plays it with a full demand
of enthusiasm
though, she knows her life
is even more profound
her students love her
beyond her teachings and laughter
she can even teach life itself
to be kind
no question, her legacy
is a soul modelled out of
angel’s wings and all the divine.
my niece, on the other hand,
is busy with her art work,
she’s lying down on her
stomach as she carefully
paints an unconventional
body with gentle yet
assured strokes.
she talks to herself, hums,
gnashes her teeth, perks up
with odd quirks, and chants
something gibberish
her hand never wavers
her glinting eyes hardly blink
like she wants us all to
see right through her mind
and the magic hidden
in her innocence and cries
the sun and the wind, however,
play tricks on me
am I the only one who can sense it
or notice how uncanny they are?
I get up and shut the window closed,
startling my family whose
exquisite and unique approach
to life makes me envy them more;
how to make the most of it,
how to relax in it,
how to challenge it,
how to stay ahead of it,
how to be more curious about it.
I suddenly look for my own item
that, in today’s day and age, is
a necessity to survive.
My niece has it wrapped around
her waist
as she goes to pace around,
reclaiming her muse to paint
a new one, I notice it
I say, “Darling, it’s auntie mommy’s.
May I have it back?”
She replies, “Auntie mommy is only
around for two months. Oh, pity life.
Oh, how must I pity life!”
The haunting words of a nine-year-old.
then there’s the sun
along with the wind
pity life, indeed
such a pity life!*
