This window is my calendar and every sunrise feels like a Monday,
Where every leaf dances to the wind, up and down, in a spiraling parade,
I've grown jealous of the coat on every squirrel and the feather of every bird,
Skittering and fluttering their designs, jumping and flying without any concern.

My one and only attire has a lot to be desired, by comparison to say the least,
And my arms and legs, as numb and limp as stone, just can't even compete,
Although I may be bald, the feeling of standing hair slithers through my skin,
And I can't help but shed tears of joy, despite all this envy I feel within.

I should be running more, over emerald fields of blades, tickling up a smile,
I want new clothes, tighter than mine, that hug like a mother to her child,
I need to get out of this room, far from all these imitation ice cream walls,
Where a sweet aroma actually lingers, like concessions at the mall.

I'm just so sick and tired of all these procedures in my life,
Unable to carve up courage, choosing a needle over a knife,
Never having the literal nerve to just get up and leave,
Drowning in a bed comprised of a salty, sweaty sea.

But Friday is near, nature is there and I am here, a daydreaming accident,
And soon I will be free from all my "brave" and "strong" commitments,
Friday is almost here and I've become so sick that I can barely breathe,
Just one more day of chemo and maybe, just maybe, I'll be free.

she’s standing next to me
the riffs crawl slowly
under her skin,
tunes reaching
something long buried
within.

the sky thickens
with sentient air —
as if we’re sitting
in a drive-through
watching us on the screen.

even the town
is under her spell,
its nightlife dimmed,
and out of the way.

she smells like
imponderable winter air.
with a glance,
she lifts me up
and breaks me
in one breath.

her eyes —
the sea after storm.
my gaze drifts
to her mouth.
her words linger,
honey-crumbed,
after a bite.

a phone chimes —
mine.
i know
i have to go.

‘find your way back to me,’
i think.
i hope.

my heart aches,
she feels it, too.
i’m not ready
to say goodbye.

but i do.

Every night I sleep, remnants of her seeps.
Her voice a ghost I used to know drifting soft like falling snow.

I try to get close, but her doors are already closed.
When she nears, I turn aside, tongue-tied, caught in the rising tide.

I don't know what to say or do if ever dreams came true.
Would silence win, or would I speak?
Probably still trembling, afraid and weak...

Now I walk the streams of night, avoiding all my dreams.
But in my heart, a quiet plea
If it really isn't me, I'll stand aside and set her free.

All the things I wanted to say to you
Have turned to fading memories.
And there’s nothing left I can do
To rewind these quiet miseries.

This isn’t what I wished for—
Your light dimmed,
Then outran mine before.
But I already missed the boat,
Fate tore through vows I never wrote.

At least come to me in dreams—
In my sleep, or drifting through day beams.
Don’t bring in the noise of reality,
Let this world be just you and me.

We’ll hang ornaments on fading daffodils,
I won’t wake if the silence fills.
If you’re a lie, let me stay within it,
I'll cross every tie just to relive a minute.

So please—don’t wake me up.
Let me swing inside this make-believe rhyme.
Not just for now...
Because at least in this world,
You’re finally mine.

The empty bed
I shared with you.
My sleepless hand sought your silhouette,
a frivolous, floating astronaut in space
seeking solace

I stared, gawked, gape into the abyss.
A modern day Sisyphus.
Like sewing seeds in the soil of winter,
or putting on a parka in July.
I am an immortal anticipating an agreeable death.

Though begging and bargaining.
I return, to the empty bed

I shared with you.

i came across this post today—
it asked me if i wondered
what would be the best place to leave my heart—
even if it's bits and pieces, like shells in the sand.

made a list for my own peace,
but here to share it, if you seek to leave a piece
of your own:

the sea, people claim, carries the tranquil
and provides the cool;

the empty temples and churches,
where your heart prays and reluctantly admits;

graveyards at night,
protected by those who left their own behind.

libraries and dusty old bookstores,
in between the pages and caskets of the used shores.

sun-dappled shades of yellow, green, and orange—
once settled, the purples and pinks of the similar hues.

gardens of thorns and flowers,
the sleeves of your last lover;
knots of the willow trees,
in winter blues and heated blooms,
risky texts during the night,
with strangers i met online,
in midst of late monsoon showers,
not to miss out the midnight hours.

a few bits i leave
in the misty mornings of the early summer,
the drenched evenings of the spring shimmer.

the company of my closest companions—
in the fur of a cat,
the nip of a bunny,
the smile of a pup,
sometimes in a sunset,
in the lush green of the forests,
often in the foil of the autumn trees.

mostly on my bed,
in my tear-filled, forsaken pillow,
and against the one i sleep so dearly.
plushies and teddies,
keepsakes of childhood memories.

with all those i've met so far,
and cookie crumbles at the footstep of my life—
for those who are welcome
and those who are not.

i have left, and leave, a lot more pieces.
i wonder if my heart is a cake-a-piece.

the curve of your smile, as it meets the edge of your eyes.
salty shimmer, like that of burning sunshine in the heat.
i grasp at the sparkles, like a child grabbing onto bubbles—
except you never quite leave,
and so the magnificence stays,
claiming its own small place in my very being.

and the locket sticker i've got tattooed on my arm—
i know what name it carries.

you've got a shadow in your vision—
my own, if i were to keep it hidden.
but it resides, like in a cage behind your beauty.
the imperfections, the mess—
all of me in its chaotic glory.

fingers tainted with melted dark chocolate,
the cranberry bits in it painting your lips.

i ask if i can put pinwheels in your hair.
you tell me i could, as i should.

the faint traces of your hand against mine—
would you paint them with my tears as i cried?

i'd like to carry symphonies spoken amongst us,
settled like candy secrets in the pit of my stomach.

the epiphanies that you've brought in between
whisper to me, like you'd beckon my spirit.

walk with me, to a path leading nowhere.
unhindered.

I see the stars in the sky—
note their pulls, their pulses, their pace.
I scribble them down in verses,
poems made of wonder and space.

I adventure with elves through dungeons,
craft blueprints in life and in game,
yearning for something like magic—
connection that kindles a name.

So if one day I meet her gaze,
the one that stills quantum waves—
collapses the maybe into now—
I'll finally know what it means

To talk of the stars, together.
To scribble the sky as one.
To quest through the dark and the clever.
To find, at last—
my sun.

My homeland smells
like freshly pressed olive oil,
like sweet fig jam,
like warm bread.

My homeland smells
like salty seas,
like endless deserts,
like ancient trees.

My homeland—
the place my soul resides,
my memories.
Mine.