She has no mirror
but where flirt the leaves with the pond
she comes in the cool of noon
mixing the dark of her hair
with the summer shade
dipping into glass green water
her toes and far above
and all the pond sees
encrypts within the bubbles of rainbow
that only her clothes
swelled in awe
can read.

I have sketched you in so many ways,
with dots and lines
and shadows and lights
and covered in colours
or in black and white.

I've sketched you as a prince,
I've sketched you as a beggar,
I've sketched you as a lover,
I've sketched you as a hater.

I've adjusted myself
to several graphite scales
so I can shade your flaws
into fairy tales...

you have been my muse,
both master and apprentice,
you have been obsession
for my sleepless senses...

But even if your image
has haunted me for long,
you have never been
just mine to belong...

so I'll just keep on drawing
and sketching you, my all
so I can have you near
when nights are getting cold...

it wasn’t chaotic.
it was calm and serene,
like the ocean.
the soft pitter patter
of the rain on the roof,
and the cool air it brought.
it was a sip
of freshly brewed coffee,
natural with no additives,
whatsoever.
the gut feeling
of knowing where home was.
and that is how
you came into my life.


the star that shines the brightest
amongst the pitch black sky.
it’s the white cloud that outshines
all the gray and gloomy ones.
the perfect fit of the last piece
to the unfinished puzzle.
it's the warm, fuzzy feeling
of getting into bed
early on a Friday night.
and that is how it was
when I started loving you.


it’s like a deeply cut wound,
one that’s inundating
with crimson colored blood,
having a tinge of maroon.
it induces pain
with every inbreathe
and exhalation.
it manages to have
the appearance of a scar,
yet it still feels so fresh
like a bruise.
and that is how it felt
when you left.


it was filled with haze
and suffocation.
the uncontrollable fast paced beat
of your heart.
Mona Lisa's enigmatic smile,
one that is hardly understood
by majority of the world.
a bite of dark chocolate,
bitter and sweet.
and this is my survival.

Is it possible for me to be a friend
to one who has given up on me?
From my point of view
it seems completely possible.
After all, it's common knowledge
that a person can love
someone who doesn't love them,
so doesn't the same apply to being friends?

But from your point of view . . . .
I don't know.
You have other friends.
I know this and understand it.
Whether they are "good friends" to you
– in the way that I understand the phrase –
I have no way of knowing,
no need to know.

But I do know
we were good friends to each other,
and I know
my feeling towards you has not changed.
In my mind I can be a friend to you
even if the feeling is not mutual.

It might help if you would tell me
why you have given up on me.
I don't know if I could understand,
but I would like to have the chance to try.

I have always said you are so good
at describing feelings
of which I have no experience,
so good that I can share emotions
that are unknown to me.
So will you not explain
how this one-sided "unfriendship"
came to be?