I try to hear your voice.

It is hidden under my feet,
Or it just grumbles a lot like our old t.v. set
Some chitter-chatter and false nonsense

It says gibberish like Alice is lost and searching for a fellow
and yet nothing would bear a sign of ‘life’ in your throat
nor in your eyes or that heart at least
Or your stupid head utmost

I am not forcing you to climb above
But I wish to throw you down the abyss, sometimes
It would be silence and just gurgling peace
And only then you would realize, morbidity is crueler than me.

I try to find your voice
It is a mysterious source of a failing adventure,
A strange torture with time
But you know what darling?
You have your stubbornness, inherited.
Some say you are a mountain in disguise
Utter rock or scabbard for bones
Yet, I promise, If I could punch some more walls
I will find the source.

I will find the source.




A satire on parents who try to “fix” their children. In order to find their right source.

Prompt: Source of a river and your own interpretation to it.



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