When the periphery is muted,
one walks the precipice -
long and narrow.

Open minds are fenced in;
And are inadvertently confined
to hushed tones
and feeble babbles.

Life then ceases to be a journey...

But rather,
                 a recurring commute.

.
If our family was a tree,
you must be the roots.

Forever planted,
forever supporting,
forever nurturing.

Just so that all of us,
may bask in the amber
of the sun...
And bathe in the silver
of the moon.

.

Even when all
the ruby shards
and splinters
had vaporised,

I’d pretend
to gather
invisible
broken pieces

outlined in chalk.

If you stood still,
and depend
only on the earth’s rotation,
the change you sorely seek
will come - but not too soon.

If you could wait no longer,
elect to move along
with the ground,
you’d soon enough find
as your ceiling
- new skies.