Maybe, someday we will joke about this,
Somehow we will arrive at the same punch line,
You know, this is just a low budget Great Gatsby, or
“Great Gatsby but the wifi went down by a bar”
We would laugh long enough to escape the after taste,
I am angry, I am not going to write about the moon and the stars,
or how sad stories are quick literature,
Or how your patience is proven by the fact that you still support Arsenal..
Just shut up.
But then we laugh, long enough.
A happy literature would be one of those complicated French dishes that a regular person would call ‘pretentious’
I am angry. I am not going to write about the myriad of daisies or the clever wild flowers that spread thinly enough not to be noticed.
Two humans, living in the same time-space on earth,
They loved each other, but it was just the wrong ‘time’
You will go back to your old ways, and I will be impatient as ever.
I am sincerely writing,
I think owls look like bottles because they have eaten all love letters tied to their legs,
I think every girl that ever loved you noticed your dimples first,
One summer night I impulsively laid down on the grass,
I felt the ground stuck to my back: cool, gripping and silent.
I could hear the clock in my living room, ticking aggressively.
Shaira Afrida Oyshee is a Bangladeshi poet and a student in Bachelor of Design, Melbourne.