Like the last time, love
Pour water in palms for me
For the last time please

O
that if I could,
I would:

Hide the moon
and the sun
in my fists.

No more lights
in nights.
No more rays
in days.

Why should the world
remain alight
when my soul
and heart
are drowned in dark?

To those
who abandon the very souls
they once vowed
to die for

hear this...

Even a flower,
plucked and dead
in your careless hand,
will gift you
its fragrance.

It does not curse.
It does not withhold.
It bleeds beauty
for the one
who tore it
from its roots.

So too
do the truest hearts,
they bloom
for their betrayers,
and love
even as they wither.

So strangely
have you stuck to my life,
you, who have gone.

Why is everything
of my life
attached to you?

Like you are
the darkness
of my nights,

and stars,
and the moon...
they must be lightless
if I don’t
think of you.

O, that time
     were an hourglass.
   Each moment with you,
     a grain of sand,

       falling, rising,
        down and up,
         up and down.

          Relived.
          Refilled.

          I wish,
     that would be my life.

dark night
a cabin deep in the jungle
raindrops whispering
on leaves
on the rooftop
on everything
soft steady like an old lullaby
and I’m sitting here
by the dim light
yellow and flickering
writing a poem
about you
for you
because you are near
not here
but near
somewhere in the sleeping village
and that’s enough tonight

by morning
you’ll come
you always do
you’ll open that wooden door
it will creak just right
like a story beginning again
your footsteps will press into the wet fragrant soil
and I’ll hear them
before I see you
and I’ll know
without looking
it’s you

how timeless it feels
how classic
this quiet expectant night
like a paused breath
like the world waiting too

is this a poem I write
or is it one
time is writing through us
without asking

maybe we are not the writers
maybe we are the lines
being drawn
slowly
tenderly
by the brush of this moment
a painting
time never finishes

and maybe
that’s the beauty of it