It Has Not Come to Pass
A staunch, pudgy body.
One hand on her hips, the other
Wiping her dusty, wrinkle-ridden face
With a frayed shawl. Her back
Bent with the weight
Of everything she’s carried
Throughout the day.
Throughout the years. In fact,
Her whole body seems slouched to the ground.
But her eyes.
Her eyes look up
Across the road
At the high rise apartments
Behind a tall, guarded gate.
Her expression = unreadable.
Her whole body sinks further down.
Poetry by Sameen
Read 123 times
Written on 2026-06-17 at 18:21
|
Albert Vynckier |
|
mickeko |
