• tamanna3 12w


    On the far edge of tomorrow,
    I build a paper house in pink
    Fill it with pumpkin seeds
    coz they say
    diabetes runs in genes.

    I bring home a dove,
    place it on my table
    It flies to the windowsill
    waiting for me
    to lend it my wings.

    I sit and smile,
    eyes fixed
    on a photograph in hand
    and a mind bustling with
    memories of two
    summer sunsets unframed.

    Too much in a moment,
    Too much in a way
    mother sees through me,
    two walls
    and a generation away.

    But father is a liar,
    he says summers were his
    favorite part of the year.
    Then why does he keep
    his pack of cards sealed
    in a drawer
    only winter is able to reach?