That our first love
will always be
our earliest
encounter with heartache
and this will rightfully claim
familiarity within us;
something about it will somehow keep those days alive- long after moving on.”

Busy people rarely ever feel sad. Why? Because sadness requires a certain depth of epiphany, a subtle but constant blow in the gut. You can never find sadness lurking in the corners of a busy office or in a library full of curious young minds.

Sadness, I think, is when the world has momentarily left its orbit to embark on a dim lit path. It is there when the day is over and the lights are out and you are left sitting in the dark feeling every bit of human. It is when you'd rather stay in for the rest of the night- and day, as well -because frankly, you have forgotten the difference.

Some days I am sure you make the sky a little bluer.
Some days I know you are part of the rain.
Some days I am convinced that if the sun will shine a little bit more, I will feel your warmth all over my bones.
Some days I believe you have become yet another color to complete the broken pieces of my rainbow.
Some days I live to see you become the missing depth of the sea. Even though our feet no longer walk on the same earth and even our eyes do not look at the same skies, you will remain here, with me, along with everything I know that is true, along with everything this world has learned about you.
This time, I would gladly keep my heart broken if it is the only way to keep a piece of it, with you, there in the heavens.

I will tell you about sadness
that is the scrap of flesh on the very tip of my toes
to the highest point of my skull.
I can tell you what about sadness-
when I lay my head back for a fortnight-
missing meals, missing knocks on my doors,
missing one’s absence inside my head,
and surviving- surviving still.
But when I write about sadness,
I shall write about you.
For sadness is also about
stories that were
never given a chance to start.

So funny how I need to build courage that is never there, and suppress something that has always been dangling between the fabrics of my heart, snapping all its way through the tender corners that induce pain. My ribs do complain.
When, tell me, when will I ever see you again?

There are two types of sadness:
one, is being sad that
you write so much,
you draw so much,
you drink so much,
you sleep too much-
the other is just
a little taste of death
on the most inconvenient hour of your life,
when you lost the understanding
of the difference between
jumping on a cliff
and falling on a cliff.

It feels like the sun shines for somebody else
And the sky is blue for another person
Even the road only hardens under a pair of shoes- that is not my size
And the fire burns to thaw not the frost of mine
It has been like that for long-
That being empty is ordinary
- ignored, even
But these I can live with.
If you let your eyes shine for me
To the tame the darkness of reality
Let them be blue for me
So I would see the sky, my sky, in you
Let my warmth flow from you
To see that I need not any other road
Other than the one that leads to you