I hold my face in my two hands,
and the rest of me falls apart.
and the rest of me falls apart.
So I hold my feet in my two hands,
and now I am on the floor.
Oh not this again,
me longing to fly.
Searching for wings,
I find torn flesh,
this too, ripped,
by two hands.
Nameless men, named men.
Even Maleficent
took lifetimes of loneliness,
to find her wings again.
© Shaista Tayabali
at DVerse Poets
image from Allure magazine
5 comments:
Everybody has a bad day from time to time, even the baddies. I like your perspective on it.
Those two hands are the real wings in the end I feeel
Are wings given by the gods, or are they grown in the shadow of wounds? My flying disease grew fins.
You gave it a different lens and I agree that it will take a lifetime to find one's wings again.
I hold my face…
Thank you.
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