Standstill: Six Poems
Yesterday, I was in the mood for some poetry since the wee hours of the morning, and as such I jotted down my ideas on my phone’s Notes app. Perhaps I was inspired by the poetry books I’d been perusing during my day internship cataloging books at my university’s Literature Department, helped by how my mind wanders when I’m physically alone or not actively talking to someone.
While I am primarily a fictionist, poetry is a quick way for me to express some of my many emotions and process some memories, both past and present. I’d done it even before, during the era of pandemic lockdowns, and posted them with accompanying “vent art” on my Instagram page. Someday I might collate those — maybe even alongside these six — into a collection, though that’s for future me to think about.
The first poem, “Dense City”, was posted separately on my personal account as a Notes app screenshot right after I wrote it in the early morning. This post’s title comes from how each of these six poems deals with the stagnancy or standstill experienced at a certain point in life.
I wrote these over the period of one day, reflecting on my past and present experiences. The order of the poems is chronological, from childhood to the present day.
—
Cry, Child, Cry
The tedious walk from school
Her little feet, step, step
Across the ever-busy hometown
The door’s thud reverberate
Little soul, wounded, deflated
Crawling up a small bed
Her hands cover her eyes
Weary tears streaming down
She let the heaviness linger
Curled up against the window
The dusk sun sharp and orange
Cry, child, cry
The mind asking questions
The heart aching for reason
Yet life, ever cruel, has none
Thump, thump
The city sounds muted
The world only pain
Her wails resonate
Cry, child, cry
Her mind wanders
Her eyes close
A tomorrow uncertain
—
Corner
Stand in the corner, child
They said, ten minutes
After that, you will have grown
The youth nodded
She stood there
Silent, observant
Ten minutes turned to thirty,
Five years turned to ten,
To seventeen,
Everyone spoke, moved
Everyone loved, bloomed
Everyone, but the child
Who stood patiently
Silent, observant
Dormant and waiting
Yearning for her time
—
The Wait
Sure, I can wait
Till the flowers bloom
And the sterlings sing
I can wait
A hand will pick up another
All soiled and wounded
I can wait
Their smile unwavering
Through the bogs and rivers
I can wait
All day, all month, all year
The mind’s freeform weaving
Hopes and dreams
Still yearning
That day will come
Surely, I can wait
—
Move, move
Go, please go away
Your grating, loud voice
And whimsy movements
No, it doesn’t matter
Your wit and wonder
We don’t bother
Go, go now
The shoulders slumped
A heavy heart
Pain piercing throughout
Stomach churning
Like unending fasting
The roads murky
Soiling the feet
Her mind weary
Sick of moving
All the moving
—
A Mother’s Hug
The classroom clock hung high
Tick, tock, tick, tock
In front was a slow note-taker
A quick problem-solver, that they say
Ponytail hair and pudgy face
Her face locked in an eternal frown
The poor soul not even near a score old
Yet her body and mind was in turmoil
A mouth silent yet aching to speak
Her eyes dart back and forth, impatient
The day now past, she walked
Past the jovial serenades
The endless chatter and laughter
The former friends with blackened hearts
Her beaten-down mind so homesick
Awaiting that soft motherly hug
The one thing she clung to for life
Life, that which she loved and hated
In that ten-second embrace
Between affirmations and reassurance
Nothing else mattered to the wounded soul
But the warm hug of a caring mother
—
Dense City
What is it like
To be alone in a dense city
A city so full yet so empty
Every passing person
A mere fleeting thought
It dissipates soon
Come home to no one
Only a small space so vast
A repeating pattern on the walls
Where does it end
When does it end
How does it end
