Five More Minutes, Mama: Prose Poetry

Five more minutes, Mama, I am caught in a happy dream.
Five more minutes, Mama,  I am telling the moon stories of comfort in your old dupattas and warmth in your vegetable soup.
Five more minutes, Mama, I am building a pillow fort of your childhood dreams.
Five more minutes, Mama, the jungle of my dreams has marigold smiles and a baby shampoo advertisement that says, “no more tears leaking moonlight.” You will like it here, Mama.

Hey, Mama, if you are happy in a dream, does that count?

Five more minutes, Mama, I am extra nice to myself today because the world was not.
Five more minutes, Mama, I am telling you the truth when you ask, “how was your day?” so you can fight the world for me.
Five more minutes, Mama, let me stay in the overgrown cocoon of my blanket. Insanity is the world’s spirit animal.
Mama, I want to forget the bedtime stories of scarlet hands reshaping your skin into liquid.
Five more minutes, Mama, you are embroidering rainbow flowers of love on my heart.
I am following the political boundaries of the needle.
Five more minutes, Mama, I am practicing a nasty face for the taxi driver.
Five more minutes, Mama, I refuse to forget and call it “healing”
Five more minutes, Mama, I am unleashing the blood they tell us to keep under control.

Hey, Mama, how do you keep your bleeding under control?

Five more minutes, Mama, I am cleaning the spilled ink before you see it.
I am writing a piece on how much of me is you, Mama.
Five more minutes, Mama, I finally have the freedom to breathe through open mouth snores.
Five more minutes, Mama, my dreams are making room for my identity.
Five more minutes, Mama, you are unpacking your grief while I feed you your favorite kheer.

Hey, Mama, how do you clean a mess when it brings you comfort?

Five more minutes, Mama, I am waiting. They forgot a scarf in my life and are coming back later for it. 
Five more minutes, Mama, the sky is wearing a champagne dress, I am drunk on a cocktail made with stardust. 
Five more minutes, Mama, I am building bookshelves to store all the leftover information. 
The birthday of a friend. Oops! Once upon a time. The book that made a girl in my book club cry, the list of my 4th grade desk mate’s allergies.

Hey, Mama, do they come back for their scarfs or do you recycle them into cleaning supplies?

Five more minutes, Mama, I am in a dream where you love me all the time. 
Five more minutes, Mama, I am in a dream where I love you all the time. 
I wake up gasping. Your eyes stare at me. Love you. 
I breathe in love, I breathe out, “I am okay” Love you too. 

Hey, Mama, do you love me a little less on days when you say, “love you” instead of “I love you”?


//”Five More Minutes, Mama”// Enigma

Copyright © 2016-2021 Enigma. All rights reserved.

Picture Credits: Enigma (Inktober 2020 Art Day 21 Sleep)

4 thoughts on “Five More Minutes, Mama: Prose Poetry

Add yours

  1. The way this felt like someone grabbed my insides and started twisting slowing but I couldn’t stop reading.
    The title? The structure? The words?

    Your one verse is a poem itself and full poem worth what thousands of poems would evoke in people. I have never read and experienced a poem so fully the way I do yours.

    What absolutely unparalleled power and talent you have E.

    I want to, as always, quote so much of this beauty, but I need more than five minutes to absorb it all.

    I have often, oh so often, wondered about what the difference could be behind “I love you” and “love you” and to see you pen down the things I’ve thought is another experience altogether.

    “Five more minutes, Mama, I am practicing a nasty face for the taxi driver”
    This hurt me, I want you to know, this line made me ache because I could see it and through it.

    My god E, all I can say is “I love you” not “love you”.


    Liked by 1 person

    1. Awwiee Megha, the way you take time out to read my poems always warms my heart. Thank you so much for reading them. This is one of the closest pieces to my heart and I am so happy that it touched you.

      And I love you, *returns panda hugs back with more strength*



  2. There’s an endearing and foreboding quality that resonates throughout the poem. Purely inquisitive questions accompanied by purely rhetorical questions.

    This dance between the known and the unknown is what really drew me in and made me curious where the poem was headed. Given your exploration of surrealism, I believe your piece is, in many ways, reflective of a waking dream. A conversation with the universe as it were — waking the unconscious.

    I often enjoy how you thread real-life concerns with your poetry with a dreamscape veil which opens up a series of interpretations that are not definitive. Makes it fun to piece together what the piece is saying. Excellent as always, Enigma 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

    1. The way you took time out to read this piece and pen down this comment makes my heart so warm. Purely inquisitive questions and purely rhetorical questions, I am so happy that you analysed them the way you did.

      You have no idea how much this comment means to me, I often dwindle on WordPress but come back because it is a home to my surrealism and I am glad you noticed that. Thank you so much for being such a constant support!

      Enigma 🙂 ❤

      Liked by 1 person

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