A Week in a Day in a Lockdown Life

by Anisha Minocha

On Sunday, wilted blue, in some broken way

sit tired, dried eyes

which stay up till four-

waking, a dawning hope 

of becoming something more.

On Tuesday, the same she lay,

with lullabies of slumbered ideas

to alarm clocks yawning-

cocooned beneath

a damp, canvased awning.

Harsh upon rain soaked glass,

Friday’s mardy moon

left light

when it dipped too soon- 

the outside just too bright. 

At nine, or somewhere around that time,

teeth are brushed: thorough and thrice.

Followed swift by breakfast-

injected ink of paper weight pages

and sooted shards of downcast

timetable edges.

At the desk, everything had been said

originality erodes in it’s tomb:

cold, dusty,

dead.

With a half- heart, poised pen apart,

gripped between

failed words and sanity,

at home, feeling so far

from reality.

Weeks marked by times crumbled apart,

melting into the cold fever

of distorted calendars,

watch, as they fall

like a house of cards.

But think of the beauty in it all.

Static, enviable, yet achromatic

screens are watched.

Ethereal illumination,

frozen, shelves clean, pristine-

suspended from another world.

Wait. Darkness looms, a soulless slate,

Like Friday, unmoved in shadowed clouds, 

Suffocating skin that feels no wind.

Restless eyes, half closed on Keats

On this unmade bed of blank sheets.

Leaves waltz in the showered breeze,

open window. Untouched air.

Oh, to not drown in dust, sinking, 

heavy as raindrops. To float in streets,

where nature walks free.

Anisha a 17 year old writer from Manchester, passionate about poetry and the power of words. As a climate activist, I have performed spoken word poetry at the Royal Exchange Theatre in ‘Letters to the Earth’. I have also written articles on religion, social media and events in a local newspaper, as well as blogging for students and libraries.Follow my blog for regular poetry and articles: https://ajmwritesonline.wordpress.com/  Twitter: @Anisha_Jaya

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