And as I leave,
As I drag my feet away,
Looking back to see if you’ll stop me,
I pray.

And as I turn that ****,
That I’ve turned everyday for a year,
Hoping the tears would change your mind,
I pray.


As I walk down those grey steps,
Those steps that I tread on every day,
Sometimes holding your hand,
Sometimes laughing with you,
Sometimes singing with you,
I pray.

As I get into the bus, I look back,
Hoping to see your face looking out from that window,
And shouting out for me to halt,
I pray.

Even when I board that one way flight,
I look back when I’m at the gate,
To see you running up like in the movies,
And I pray.


But I guess,
That hand I once held so tight,
And promised to never let go,
Let go…

But I still pray,
Because miracles do happen…

Hoping, dreaming,
Wishing, praying,
Fasting, petitioning,
Crying, weeping.

A hundred days,
Bygone.

Hoping we could once more see your face,
As impossible as it sounds,
Dreaming, that someone, somewhere, some place,
Finally finds you, and that you're at last home bound.

A hundred days,
Of excruciating pain.

Wishing against the logic of the world,
That you're still fine, and you'll fall into my arms once again,
Praying to God, gods, goddesses, deities of the world,
That even if you're not lost forever, you're still okay, not in pain.

A hundred days,
Of sleeplessness.

Fasting, maybe not because we believe it'll help,
But food does not replenish anymore,
Petitioning to the saints above,
To ask the angels to hold you, forevermore.

A hundred days,
Of yearning.

Crying for that solace only closure brings,
That somehow its not a conspiracy and that the truth is revealed.
Weeping for every single person, every heartbroken family,
Who's dreams and aspirations lay now buried, concealed.

A hundred days,
Of timeless sadness.

They say time heals,
The say it will get better,
But nothing can better what we feel,
Not even time.

A hundred days,
Without conclusion.

I saw a bird,
On its feet on my kitchen floor,
And as swiftly as it came into visual,
It fluttered off.

It was a sparrow,
A small brown thing,
But alive and free.
And it made me smile.

It made me smile,
For all the reasons,
I don't have what it had,
Freedom, throughout the seasons.

Its always birds isn't it,
That make us think of freedom:
The flight of swallows in dusk,
Or the release of doves on Easter.

Its always those birds isn't it,
That make us feel deep within,
How it would be like to fly,
And to rise up above everything, above wind and sky.

But what does it really mean to be  free?
The wondrous spread of wings,
And the ability to lift off from the ground?
And to soar above the clouds?

It was a bird,
That made me smile,
And think to myself,
How so much more than a bird am I!

Silently watching,
Silently wondering,
If that's all you are...

That surface-level smile,
That skin deep smirk,
Concealing emotions worth a thousand pages.

"Is everything okay?"
The words flow out as easily,
As easy as they always do.

But those things in your head,
They don't run out from your tongue that easy,
As you give that smirk, hiding everything in that subtle nod.

Silently I wonder,
If everything is okay,
But I guess I'll never know...

If my blood could illustrate,
A picture to the world,
It will tell you the exact state,
How my heart pumps its hurt.

Each ventricle pumps emotions,
Pain, anger, hope,
Up to my brain,
And down to my toes.

Slithering through each artery and vein,
Blood carves my hearts pain,
In my head,
In my head.

Working through each capillary,
It forges anger and rage,
In my bones,
My aching bones.

After its done its work,
It fights back through each valve,
And pours back into the atriums,
Devoid of fury and pain.

It was used up,
Just like my tears,
My wasted energy for nothing,
It brought me no good.
Just more hurt.

And just slowly,
As the pain and anger dissipates from my system,
And fresh blood is packaged and sent,
From my bone marrows,
It brings along a slimmer of hope,
That this new cycle of blood would carry no more pain.