“The Mother”


The mother never
gazes at her baby

She averts her eyes
from her baby
because
she feels that
a huge bruise caused by guilt
spreads through
the face of her baby

The mother always
escapes from
eyes of her baby,
not to be caught by guilt
that she gave every timidness
to her baby,
not to be killed by eyes
full of tiny hate
and approaching torture

The mother never
gazes at her baby,
even if
her baby wants the mother's eyes


          


“Dear Beloved One”


Instead of loving you,
I want to break you
by my cracked skin

Instead of healing you,
I want to torment you
by my despairing lips

My empty eyes
gaze at only your desire

Your vulnerable soul
pours dry hopes
into my veins





“Summer Coffee”


Summer coffee
makes me travel
around the velvety night world

The scent tastes
like daybreak

The bitterness sounds
like lonesomeness

In my mug,
coffee sways
with the rising sun

As if summer tells me that
it never sinks,
coffee cocoons my space
by floating here

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Yuu Ikeda is a Japan-based poet. She writes poetry on her website: https://poetryandcoffeedays.wordpress.com/. Her published poems are “On the Bed” in Nymphs, “Seeds” in Tealight Press, “Dawn” in Poetry and Covid, and more. Her Twitter and Instagram handle is @yuunnnn77.

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