there is no wind. no movement.
the dust on the box is now its paint
also its paint is the sunlight that comes in from the creek of the window left ajar.
the windowpane, is broken from the edges.
on days of storm, this window strikes itself hard, back and forth, sounding an alarm for an empty home, to run and bring back clothes drying on the line.
there are no clothes. there is nobody to run. nobody to bolt the window shut.
everything is still. and melancholy.
but there are noises. the chirps? the cooker whistling? of water running- overflowing from the bucket, of an urgency to close the tap. of the gate. the gate opening, the fan whirring, a home. noises of a home.

there is colourlessness. the curtains untouched for weeks.
the walls, magnolia on some parts, cement on most. paint on some parts, crayons on most.
a broken toytrain, a doll with no hand sit on the showcase. there. dust sits on the toys.
carefully painted pots, filled with soil, but devoid of life. the soil craves to be watered.
but there are sunsets. was it red? or orange?  the aroma of tea. the sound of the box of biscuits being opened, sound of children screaming to catch the ball,
chirps? birds returning to their nests. returning home.

oh.
there he is, with his wrinkled veiny forehead resting on his wrinkled veiny hands, in the corner of the room, at the window, all alone, lying on the cot.
his eyes red and watery, of age, of wistfulness, could be either.
his foggy memories and and the window banging in the other room don't let him sleep.

You cry seas of tears
And yet fail to collect
Just enough water
To sail through

You tee-hee and ha-ha
And yet fail to collect
Just enough cheer
To laugh it all off

Every utterance
strangles harder the neck
Every depiction
strikes harder the mind
Every feeling
breaks harder the heart

Every boulevard
becomes harder to recognize

You hope
for every potential human
To look for you
To get you back
To restore you into familiarity

You gutted, poor, poor thing,

Remember it's said,
Seek and
you
will find.

DAISIES

Will you walk through the daisies with me,

while the moonlight wraps us

in a cold huddle,

making us feel at home?

We can walk barefoot

through the flowers,

while the grass tickles our toes.

We can lay down

and look up at the sky,

while humming your

favourite song.

I can pluck the stars

and sew them into your hair.

I can make you a tiara

out of all the wishes

which the shooting stars carry.

I can lasso the moon

and fix her into your eyes.

I can capture the hush of the night,

and place it in your smile.

We can talk about nothing,

yet everything.

We can be alone

with each other.

We can get lost.

Will you walk through the daisies with me?

Sometimes
It's actually good that you don't get what you want.
Because
If you get too much of what you want,
Maybe,
You just won't want it anymore.

I needed you
To warn me
Before the storms

Ah

Instead
You yourself
Were the storm