Her Revolution

Aishath Noorain Jiyad, 10B

her sleep was his toy and his, her haven
with no one to sing him lullabies
fatigue was one she could not afford
and it was love, how he fell asleep
to a voice so ruptured, a song with no rhythm
but a certain love was reason for a closet filled with only her clothes
and a cold bed with just one pillow
having dinner with empty chairs
and just two shadows by one lamp
her excuse? she couldn’t afford to throw away a perfectly good chair
and so she found bitterness
falling asleep to wet pillows and dirty sheets
even a damsel in distress in her dreams
waking to her baby’s songs echoing within her four walls
while facing a leaking ceiling, and harmonizing with him
the sun seems sad most afternoons
and the paintings weep on her walls
how pitiful they say you could have been a piece of art instead
she couldn’t sit down with them ruining the walls
so her hands bled darker than them at the sound of torn canvases and broken brushes
how pitiful
her baby spend hours, missing his mama
how would he know she couldn’t face him?
hatred and resentfulness, she defined herself
with no ends met, a leaking roof, she called her dream the biggest joke
her body became one with the earth, her mind following suit
how selfish, to go along with her body
how selfish, to listen to something without its own consciousness
another morning came, on a cold floor
and where was her baby?
in her arms with his tear stained face
she looked down, ashamed of feeling abandoned
when the greatest miracle was right in front of her
she didn’t need a third in her home of two
and she didn’t need to leave the door open anymore
the only love she’d ever need was the one in her arms
sure her days felt longer and sleep was scarce
but the bed didn’t need to be cold anymore

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