If tomorrow was never to come,
I wouldn’t be staring at the sky,
Questioning about my existence,
My purpose in this vacuous life

If tomorrow was never to come
I wouldn’t try to play the victim
Whose songs are being replayed
With its lyrics darting at my fragility

If tomorrow was never to come
I wouldn’t try to be the 1080p of their life
Trying to be the perfume of euphoria
Consuming me to my depths

If tomorrow was never to come
I would still like to be the child
Whose pages weren’t filled with words
Words which made me apathetic

-Growth

After centuries of
chronologically repeating
the same task of
washing an ornate,
immaculate and unused textile,
the almighty’s child
reciprocated with a why.
The child evolved into a key
that sealed the Pandora’s box
and hence,
spirituality began to blossom.

Walking through this abyss of road,
I can feel the wind rushing towards me,
Warning me about what’s next to come,
The trees towards my right,
A synchronization of tales
about the seasonal changes that
they have yet to overcome.