Son of a Seamstress

Image from Pexels

Alone,
taking patterns and material
to sew colors that only your
love can express.

Quietly
choosing the right emotions
and threading your soul
carefully.

I’ve mistaken your happiness
when you smiled,
while wearing the shirt you made.
Some of the buttons have gone missing now
and there are holes and stains all over.

You rush to fix it.

I don’t see anything wrong—

the love never faded.


This poem was written for my momma who seems to have a knack to guide me even from a distance. I love talking to her on my Sunday mornings!

Morning Tea

Amber as the eye of dawn,
warm is the sunlight in my cup.
A pinch of sugar topped with a mint leaf,
memories of youth and the future
swirl in the purity of nature before me.

When no one is looking

Carnation in color
matching no other
sun kissed are the petals
I dare not disturb her

Instead
I steadily write with my pen
taking note
of how she dances in the wind

She didn’t bob or weave
it was a heartfelt curtsy
Pausing
I saw that she wasn’t free

Ensnared to a life of loneliness
she frees herself in the emptiness
with eyes that glanced her way
She’s alive

Only from a distance 
can she appreciate happiness

Picture of Success

Image from Pixabay

Failure,
outlined by mistakes,
is a colored portrait
of blood, sweat, and tears.
Judge too quick,
the piece will never be finished.