As we cook and clean at home, without food delivery and housemaids, maybe we could learn to be more mindful of these unsung heroes?
They say it’ll be alright, ’cause hope is a comforting thing.
But what good is the light at the end of the tunnel, for the hearts that are aching?
We’ll sit all night to see
the fireflies fill the air.
Like a shower of confetti, swirling.
Till morning greets us, without a care.
The whole world wants to decide
how much I should and shouldn’t feel
like there is some metric to adhere to.
can you hear the voices
of the storms in my eyes?
or can you hear
the melody of mischief
and chirpy delight?