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By: Shivangi Lahiri
(@thepenguinwithapen on Instagram)
Picture source

It's been so long and I needed solace,
Solace in a place 
Far away from home.
I tried adding those dainty cushions,
Those little lights on a string,
And tried to make my space
Sound happier than it looked.
But my dead voice 
Bounced off the brick walls –
And without an ounce of a mother's love;
My mother's love.
The dreamcatcher broke 
From catching so many nightmares,
And it resembled my frail little heart
Withering away like
The money plant I once bought and
Never cared for again.
The pillows smell like a baby's skin,
And I wonder
If my mother misses her baby,
Inside the pearly gates of Heaven.
And if she asks the guardian of the gate
Like she asked that neighbour
If she sees me anywhere
Because her guiding stick didn't really help.
There have only been burnt out cigarettes
And so many lipstick marks
And the smell of male cologne
I can't differentiate which is which.
It is not home.
It is not the home my mother made me see,
Even though she didn't have that chance to.
It is a waste of space
Except for the dried up lavender flowers 
In my mother's leather journal
The one where she keeps an eyelash of hers
The one where she wrote her suicide note
The one, where she tells me to find peace among her blood stains.

For more such poems, check out Poems under The Word.