Probably the lengthiest poem I have ever written! I hope you like it. Please give me your honest opinions in the comments below!
P.S The title of the poem is in Latin and translates to rebirth.
She was made up of words,
They all said. She was meant
To be an author, they proclaimed.
But her mother, Mrs. Smith
Cooked dreams of an early
Marriage and a crawling toddler
For her. Thus, she ran.
She ran, leaving a world
Behind only to step into another.
She would paint her own life,
Embellish it with colloquialism,
Flowery words and further,
In her haste, she could only
Collect what her greedy hands
Touched. A toothbrush. A
Satchel and not as much a
Glance to the lady who was
Constituted of belligerence and
Hostility for her shaky career.
Betty was the bird emancipated
From a wooden cage. She would
Flap her wings around a strange
Place. She would grasp the
Feather and let it sink into
The welcoming ink and let the
Words spill out on an otherwise
Blank page. Oh! The jolts of
The train were like droplets of
Water flicked hurriedly after a
Nightmare. She was in a rocking
Carriage with people carrying
The burdens of their own stories after all.
She never batted her eyelashes
At another. Her concentration
Was pinpointed on the leather
Of the ledger she had managed
To gather. Her dexterous fingers
Groped the skin of the new diary
And her heart beat faster by
Imagining what would go in it
And which magazines her work would
Travel to. She was the witch and
This diary was her wand. She
Would cast enchanting spells
And thrive from it all.
For once, she heaved and a
Bizarre fear settled in the pit
Of her stomach. She knitted
Her brows deep in worry and
Anxiety for the thought of
Starting over. But the word
‘Valiance’ quivered in her mind like
Trees from an arrogant wind
Before a storm and she felt
Bolstered again. Because, she
Knew that no matter how harsh
The wind howls at the tress, they
Quiver but they never crumble and fall.