073024

I  store series of stories in my eyes —
Numbing baggages and broken tires.
In the midst of every split second,
Those who fall short lay their nest
Defying their shells and stitching their wounds.

And yet every tear has thousands of words,
Before it spills out into the oceans of the unknown.
There’re notions to unfold, motions untold.
Distraught and yet it brings the purest worship,
Singing hymns of praise like a roaring lion.

I hear the echoes of my own entity,
The lamentation of the inner child within me.
She speaks the alphabets of her journey,
Every rhyme’s a new mime
Mimicking the old times —
The few times she drives herself home.

There’s crimson in her eyes,
There’s a prison when she cries.
Her heart’s a burning furnace —
I touch it with my trembling fingertips
And everything turned into deep smokes.

“This too shall pass”
Her hopes are high and there’re no boundaries
For the miracles she believed in.
Now she’s ready to emerge
Witnessing the splitting of the oceans,
Hoping to rewrite her story.