How do you capture a person, a lover, a friend?
The feelings they invoke.
I once feverishly tried to catch moments,
Through paper and brushstrokes,
To weave a tapestry that conveys,
Each fine line, each glance or gaze.
But paper couldn’t capture them,
Pens and paint are too fickle, too easy to erase.
Even a whirring shutter,
Cannot capture true depth,
Its pale mockery haunts me,
Hollow, flat, devoid of breath.
No emotion, no flicker of light.
A sensor, a lens,
Cannot compete against eyesight.
Besides the paper fades and wears,
Colour washes out,
No amount of love can repair.
Then can a person exist in the mind?
If only memory could be so kind,
But she is a fickle mistress,
And the mind is far from riskless.
Things buried deep are prone to disappear,
So even if you gather here:
Those precious memories, moments,
Days you hold so dear,
Don’t expect your aging self,
To remember things as clear.
If memories cannot hold them,
Maybe only you can.
To tie down and hide away,
For the rest of their lifespan.
To shelter, cherish and hoard,
You hold them close, tell them to stay.
But part of them decays.
Choking, depriving, deprecating,
To overwhelm in a loving embrace,
Until slowly, your suffocating
Means all colour leaves their face.
Maybe this is impossible.
You cannot capture a person,
Any more than you can bottle an emotion,
Cage the vast, boundless sea,
Pin down a thought or notion,
Or chastise the sun on your knee.
Why do we obsess and lament,
The past rather than enjoying the present?
How to capture a person?
Maybe the only true way,
Is in individual moments,
The day-to-day.
6d ago
May 29, 2026 at 3:50 AM UTC
How do you capture a person, a lover, a friend?
The feelings they invoke.
I once feverishly tried to catch moments,
Through paper and brushstrokes,
To weave a tapestry that conveys,
Each fine line, each glance or gaze.
But paper couldn’t capture them,
Pens and paint are too fickle, too easy to erase.
Even a whirring shutter,
Cannot capture true depth,
Its pale mockery haunts me,
Hollow, flat, devoid of breath.
No emotion, no flicker of light.
A sensor, a lens,
Cannot compete against eyesight.
Besides the paper fades and wears,
Colour washes out,
No amount of love can repair.
Then can a person exist in the mind?
If only memory could be so kind,
But she is a fickle mistress,
And the mind is far from riskless.
Things buried deep are prone to disappear,
So even if you gather here:
Those precious memories, moments,
Days you hold so dear,
Don’t expect your aging self,
To remember things as clear.
If memories cannot hold them,
Maybe only you can.
To tie down and hide away,
For the rest of their lifespan.
To shelter, cherish and hoard,
You hold them close, tell them to stay.
But part of them decays.
Choking, depriving, deprecating,
To overwhelm in a loving embrace,
Until slowly, your suffocating
Means all colour leaves their face.
Maybe this is impossible.
You cannot capture a person,
Any more than you can bottle an emotion,
Cage the vast, boundless sea,
Pin down a thought or notion,
Or chastise the sun on your knee.
Why do we obsess and lament,
The past rather than enjoying the present?
How to capture a person?
Maybe the only true way,
Is in individual moments,
The day-to-day.