Her Final Paper

Posted: October 11, 2011 in Paths To Conquer, Poetic Paths
Tags: , , , , , , ,

Her face is hard like an ancient palace
With lines that tell tales of the ages.
She barely moves as though she were
A great monument that all have gazed upon
And admired.
She has raised her children,
Her children’s children,
And would dare face another generation.
Signs of her busyness reduced to a quiet shaking of the hands,
A reminder of her present absence in control.
With a body that has fed nations and heroes,
Dried to the point of recession.

That hardened face is broken by the sight of her future,
No longer in her hands but in the lives she has birthed.
A smile creasing her creases, but also making them vanish before your eyes
As youthfulness springs up to release a joy long desired.
When she sees her future walking independently of her
She regrets she didn’t have more years to give,
And the smile is challenged by the reality and
Ruthless nature of time:
Giving you all you need,
but never letting you know it.
Though she would never be guilty of wasting it!

She has beaten the odds in most occasions
Bringing forth life that has surpassed her endeavours
This old palace has had much royalty dwell within it.
No man could tame her resolute ideals
She was wild and free!
Woman unbridled, unleashed, unrelenting, and unstoppable!
Weaving survival and success into one basket of glory
Filled with the fruit of her labours in the
Hospital, home and heart.
Yet, that shake in her hand today is just a ghost
of yesterday’s exploits.
She can’t control it,
Like she couldn’t control her actions before.
Twisted irony.

The face becomes a facade as she dreams an epiphany:

A little girl sitting in the classroom
Writing the final exam of Life.
She jots down all she can remember furiously,
As she’s heard the warnings of time’s equally furious race to the finish.
She pours out herself onto that paper
Only thinking of the mark she might receive for her efforts,
But a figure stands up from behind his table;
The Invigilator declares to her in that silent solitary room,
“Your time has come to an end.”

And so,
With one breath,
She puts down her pencil.

Pencil Down. Exam... Over.

  1. Chen says:

    Oh wow… I wish I could hear you explain to me why you write this the way you did and what you were trying to put accross – its very very good Moos. xoxo

    • The Maze says:

      Good Day Chen…
      I must say I’ve missed your comments. Hahaha!!
      Well, its a deeply personal poem, yet it’s a universal issue. Death is something we must all face, and for this woman, its almost as if she found some kind of ‘life’ in it again by seeing herself as a little girl.
      That’s on the plainer side of things though.
      The connection for me is something that made it very hard to accept. I’m sure you can figure that one out.


  2. I love how well you brought back the “palace” motif throughout the piece – nations, recession, royalty. I also love “creasing her creases”, the double meaning of “fruits of her labor” and the description of how her “face becomes a facade”. Nice work!

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