Today, the prompt asks me to write a poem that argues against, or somehow questions, a proverb or saying. They say that “all cats are black at midnight,” but really? Surely some of them remain striped. And maybe there is an ill wind that blows some good. Perhaps that wind just has some mild dyspepsia.
I struggled with this immensely and could only come up with the one stanza, that I am hopeful will lead to a more cohesive poem some time in the future.
Absence Makes The Heart Grow
Absence makes the heart grow flabbier,
Losing musculature, it fattens in its forgetting,
Straining, feigning remembrance of
Blocked off, walled memories.
Tejas Rao 