I grew up with pickle jars
giving out whiffs of aroma
With an aftertaste that said,
'I love you no matter what'
I grew past my grandmother's superstitions
And my first lover's promises.
I grew on muffled conversations
Carried out under the pillow
And outbursts of my opinion;
And I am still growing
Under the Melbourne Sky
This fast city with its quick accidents,
Spraying gray on suits and waxed heads,
Expensive tastes in tea and cigarettes,
And schedules deciding their day.
Bless these men, they fly kites of crystal!
Tie their shoe-strings to my turquoise cycle,
And let them know that their joints
Had slowly turned brittle
polishing someone else's gold.
Shaira Afrida Oyshee is a Bangladeshi poet and a student in Bachelor of Design, Melbourne.