My mother’s lipstick

Sometimes in sheer memory

I glide on smoothly

a matt finished lipstick

on my skin.

The color maroon

one November afternoon

I see through the mirror

the woman I have known

or reflection of my own.

Not any other

I see my mother

wearing Her lipstick

that compliments Her style

Her beautiful smile.


Miss you mom. 💝


That Feeling

 (Job Hunt)

I’m on a walk, or on a hunt

Pampered and suited

Buttons tucked and booted

Faking a smile

For this little while

To Shiny faces

On which maturity laces

Studying me from a distance

On my existence

In this little room

Whether I’ll fail or boom

To their expectations

Mystical creations

Asking their point of view

On my interview.

(Anne Baluch)