Pov: Cracks of a family



POV: a broken chair. Just a bit off balance, to be fair.

The father, he tripped over this once

When he tried to grab his son

From over, when conversation turned to sour from fun


POV: the sunglasses. Of a mother hiding the face of her phases.

Well, it was always someone's fault in the darkness of it all.

But maybe, it was the tint of the sunglasses et al.


POV: the walls that divide. Family with scars open and wide.

He would walk in to find no one in sight

And yet, overhear ones on the other side

More or less in a fight

Not on right or wrong, but why he isn't right


POV: the Thanksgiving turkey. No, the scene isn't murky

1, two, three and 4, holding hands and saying grace

Hanging on to this embrace

Of very temporary solace

But it's real nonetheless

Although there's a call for brace


POV: the hidden apologies. Underneath layers of paint on crease

Maybe sorry was step one

And now it's 97 past a ton

None forgiving of the stabs

As turmoil was as normal as the scorching sun


POV: the creaking gate opposite the neighbour's estate

Welcome to the world of distaste

Where I am trapped with people I love

Who each other, have reasons to hate



POV: you’re a broken chair. Only a balancing issue, to be fair.

The father, he tripped tripped over this once

When he tried to grab his son

From over, when conversation turned to sour from fun


POV: through the sunglasses. Of a mother hiding the face of her phases.

Well, it was always someone's fault in the darkness of it all.

But maybe, it was the tint of the sunglasses et al.


POV: of the walls that divide. Family with scars open and wide.

He would walk in to find no one in sight

And yet, overhear ones on the other side

More or less in a fight

Not on right or wrong, but why he isn't right


POV: there’s the Thanksgiving turkey. No, the scene isn't murky

1, two, three and 4, holding hands and saying grace

Hanging on to this embrace

Of very temporary solace

But it's real nonetheless

Although there's a call for brace


POV: the hidden apologies. Underneath layers of paint on crease

Maybe sorry was step one

And now it's 97 past a ton

None forgiving of the stabs

As turmoil was as normal as the scorching sun


POV: you’re the creaking gate opposite the neighbour's estate

Welcome to the world of distaste

Where I am trapped with people I love

Who each other, have reasons to hate



- Sneha Devraj

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