I seem to be the golden strand,
stuck inside Mona Lisa’s hand.
But nobody seems to care
about Mona Lisa’s hair;
all that they care about is her stare.
Her stare reaches within the soul,
and everyone does what they are told.
They clean, wash, and work,
but I don’t seem to quirk.
I once was told that when I respect my work
others will.
But I don’t think they will until,
I raise my voice and stomp real big,
but all I see is a broken twig.
All the people that were there,
they seemed to vanish in thin air.
Whatever I had to say,
everyone ran away.
They left me in dismay.
No one gave me a single thought,
even though I gave it all I got.
I have this poem stuck in my head,
and I don’t even care if it goes unread.
Anika Goswami • Dec 4, 2023 at 11:21 am
This poem is so creative and beautifully written! Amazing work, Avika. Congratulations on your win!
Avika Taneja • Feb 2, 2024 at 8:44 pm
Thank you so much, Anika! You did amazing as well!