• my_cup_of_poetry 120w

    The clock strucks three
    And I silently walk up
    to my mother ;
    I tell her that I wish
    to write a book, a tragedy
    where I would name the
    protagonist Anna.
    And Anna won't grow
    her hair long for a prince
    to fall in love.
    My heroine would kill
    a king , pin his head
    on to a wall,
    weave a tiara out of
    his blood soaked hair
    and sip wine in
    strange cities.
    I tell her that my mind
    isn't a quiet place,
    that I still scribble
    poetries at midnight
    and more than his paintings,
    Van Gogh's death inspires
    I bend a little closer and
    reach her ears to whisper
    that her love keeps
    barking at me , asking me
    to not fall in love.
    And that noise doesn't
    let me sleep.
    I am awake since ages.

    The alarm clock rings
    and I wake up ;
    Six in the morning
    And I find her awake :
    My mother!


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    I tell her that my mind isn't a quiet place.