A woman full of imagination comes home
And carefully places down a thick red file of pages on the bed.
She places down her faded black leather bag
Her cheap blue pen
Her cellphone with almost nil airtime balance – all on the bed.
She dumps down the loud, erratic symphony of chaotic sounds of late afternoon traffic,
The bitter taste of the city smog
The fake smiles that she sees
The murmured rejection from professional strangers toward her work in the thick red file – the pages of her mind – all on the bed.
Her entertaining plots, thrilling scenarios, various characters of her imaginative world – her minds crafty creation – this she lays sweetly on the bed.
Her mother’s hope on her: ‘ The Dreamer of the family. ‘
Her father’s skepticism thrown at her, “Dreaming does not feed your stomach,” he cynically said.
The approved college applications that she had rejected to pursue her ambition of becoming a great like Edgar Allen Poe – all of this she flings on the bed.
She gently lays down the pages of her many unfinished manuscripts and ‘To Kill A Mockingbird,’ her favourite book.
Her optimistic aspirations for the future,
Her anxious worrying tears for the present,
Her resentment of the poor choices of the past – all she tosses on the bed.
She looks at the bed now and shakes her head.
There’s so many of things for it to bear!
She threw her life wanton and carelessly there.
Pity and sympathy for it she will not give for underneath all its softness and comfortability, it has the structural determination to endure and stand firm and unwavering.
So strong
So brave
So big
So quick to spring back to shape
It respectfully still gives her her rightful place even knowing all that she had failed.
It beckons to her pen appearing to tell her: “It still has ink and pages wait.”
Finally, she lays down her tired mind on the bed that allows her to dream of a tomorrow better and bright.