Photo by Esra from Pexels:

She became the slave
to the stirring life’s current,
So deterrent to the frame
of her smiling face,

She flowed through,
waded through and swam through
against the ocean’s turmoil,
but loosely anchored,

Though endless, somehow the sea gripped
her soul to its depth
by the string of worries and what-ifs,
the ghosts of unwanted scenes,
playing in her dreams under the moonlight,

She became the slave
so well she forgot herself,

Little did she know
she was the current itself.



Photo by Craig Gary from Pexels:

she aimed
for the wrong stars.

she ran
on the misleading path.

she chased
after the deceptive light.

she climbed
the false mountain.

she used
an imprecise map.

now here she is,
in the middle of an endless sea,
no light for her to see,
no direction she can seek,
only a spark of hope in her hold,
only a dream of shore in her grasp,

sometimes the wind lingers,
sometimes it blows,

sometimes the storm stays,
sometimes it goes,

sometimes the lightning strikes,
sometimes it ceases,

but never the sun,

been wading through the ocean blind,
been paddling through the waves in stride,

to step back is to drive
the broken car,
to step forward is to dive
into uncertainties,
but which one’s worse?



Photo by cottonbro from Pexels:

Been in and out
of five-summers-old
love and lust

Hung on to
a decade-old doubt
and hope
that died in the end

Seen some decades-old
stories burned
and blazed
by the time itself

Lived for twenty years
and more
but all I’ve seen of love
is rain of pain
and storm of loss

Lived for twenty years
and more
but all I’ve seen of love
is it stinging my skin,
inflicting bruises,
scathing my soul

— and they still ask me why
I don’t believe in love

© Muthia Huda 2022



Photo by Ben Mack from Pexels:

the start of your new life
is the start of my self-love

the sounds of your wedding bell
marks the start of my freedom

Gone is the unanswered questions of your love to me.
Gone is the midnight wishes to be with you.
Gone is the slow-paced tortures of endless anticipation and expectation of me to you.
Gone is your cooping hold to my heart in your uncertainties and a decade-old doubt.

And here is to the new me,
my heart in peace even though so teared,
my hair in endless wind even though in mess,
my soul reviving and shining colors through my puffy eyes,
my bleeding hands reaching out to the sky and stars I once forgot.

here is to my new life.

© Muthia Huda 2022



Muthia Huda

a medical doctor, a poet, an Indie author of “She Was Almost Dead” (Available on Google Books)