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Its about when you leave..
Something will be missing.
My air won’t be the same.
A strange vacancy will hit my atmosphere,
until one day it is covered up,
by veil of new shadows.
The constellations are bound to light up once again,
and they will.
Then this fine summer noon,
as I lie on the porch,
the wind will trespass the waves
that my forehead extends,
right by my shoulder and down the lane.
And as the wind struggles past my hair,
demanding a beautiful escape,
This fine summer noon,
I’ll meet you there,
Once again..
We are, all in all, pieces of distractions in ourselves,

the world big-banged upon us, if not, soulfully.

And in this, it gives us a privilege,

to choose whom and what to distract us.

Despite the major distraction that you already are,

you choose that one being, that one thing, to divert you.

You allow it to distort you,

bring you down to the edge of everything; loves and curves,

suns and burns, rainbows and hurricanes,

fights and flights, peace and Syria,


fullness and vacuums,

“whatsoever”s  and “whatnot”s;

to the edge of that one being and thing, and, you.

You struggle between highs and lows,

poems and blank pages, holding on and letting go,

repeats and ends, question marks and full stops,

sentences and incomplete lines…

And yet, you choose to let it distract you.

BECAUSE THIS IS SURVIVAL,

to glue the pieces of distractions that you already are;

where you know, only bodies of ice can stick together.

Winter mornings and green tea,

and nothing could describe it any better.

— The End —