Are we really that comfortably unconcerned knowing that after we die, our digital footprints are left behind? Just clustered trails of our digital souls as if they're really that essential other than our physical presence - piled up from inactivity found in just one click from a mere search bar available to whoever dares to know about our false relevance.
Let the cold weather deep freeze our soul, And let the sun shine deep fry it. But after the extreme, Do find the in between. Let it melt under the shade of the past, And let the scorching rays of hope find it.
Hoping to meet a familiar gaze from the concrete faces, in the old place, with some old ways. As if to view from a pinhole image of a dancing ghost from the bond we shared. But only exchanged, Tones of ambivalence, And unfamiliar stares.
Let's burn bridges, and wonder about the unborn child crawling beneath our sanity that will never be born. Scratching our grit and flipping our eyeballs for a while, As we see a glimpse of the lives we never live.
Accumulated dust on the window pane, left unclean for a seasonal detain. You swing out the casement, powder clouded the air, But, you don't care. Instead, you lean out, your face caressed by the outside breeze, tousling your hair. Sun rays landed on the cheek, shadows on the crease. You try to breathe. Your eyes squint, the dust might have been. But, some blurry distinct entities of love, pain, hate and shame comes running down your cheeks.