When I go back,
will you wrap your arms around me,
even though I smell differently,
speak foreignly, think a little too liberally,
will you, will you still love me?

When I go back,
will you re-teach me my language,
re-connect me with my roots,
re-live the years I missed, re-kindle my innocent bliss,
will you, will you still call me yours?

When I go back,
will you provide me with friends,
not “childhood friends’, but the ones
that are ready to make new memories,
and appreciate my multiple identities,
and will they, will they accept me?

When I go back,
will you guarantee me a relevant nationality,
a place I can belong, a culture I can call on,
to answer these confusions, these conundrums
these clashes of who I am and where I’ve been,
of when I changed and why I’m me,
Will you cure me, finally,
of these anxieties?

Or will I
forever be a splinter
that doesn’t quite fit in right
a thin piece in society
that jabs at its veins,
remain unwanted and, ultimately, a pain,
but can never be uprooted?

Only there,
slowly growing
*insane?

Blink.

Blink the dust away.

The particles of vacancies because you didn’t stay.

The droplets of memories leaking to different shades of Monet.


Blinks.

For seconds of blackness and rests for what the soul receives

and rejects. Every time these lids fall close, it seems like thieves

will finally stop stealing dreams.

But they don’t.


Blink and blink,

Faster so the eyelashes will flutter

For the caves to open and welcome in crazed butter-

flies, before the bats chase them

through the gutter.


Blink.

Blink.

Blink.


Blink back to my dearest

unfortunately not my nearest.

Blink again for the heights of happiness.

Of the summit and fall from the crest.


Blink.

Here’s a space to dream.

Of sleepless nights staring at starlights,
Only dropping twinkles can enter this bubble,
Of you and I.

You and I

Will meet where crossroads are paused
When cars stop and red lights glow
Beyond the smog of the city. I

will never forget, how eye
to eye, we were traumatised
by the beauty of painful love.

Or maybe, maybe, it was just my
imagination, the way lies
seem like truths
so easily disguised.

We travelers don't simply visit a place
We roam and rave, and lose ourselves,
whether in between alleys or cedar trees

Or waves, and we never stop running into
the tides that crash into
us, breaking all we ever covered
ourselves, all we ever hid behind.

No, we travelers don't sleep in white sheets. We
lay naked under the stars. Only under cold breezes
will we close our eyes, resting from the sights
that shine so bright they sore us.
And even then, we will listen
and we will dream.

We travelers don't fall in love to be in love
We let our hearts open for no other reason
than genuine awe of another being
who may or may not reciprocate our feelings, so
we'll laugh and cry bittersweet tears and smiles
until either nothing, or everything is what's
left.

What are friends?
Are "friends" just specks of moments shared,
times when you feel cared
for or are they real persons?

Do friends make you cry,
make you feel hated,
wonder if this was an end belated,
or are they just the good smiles and laughter?

Do friends leave,
or are they forever?
Do they remain a part of your life
even though you're a traveler?

Why do we have to give up? Why do we have to move on?
This so-called action of maturity, of dignity, of practicality,
Wiping years and tears as though they were far gone,
Refusing to let anything hurt just a little too slowly.

But isn't that sacrilegy?
Killing something sacred for the sake of an easier way,
A ****** of moments, reducing "friends" into just a diluted memory,
Tossing trust - mutual trust - into that pile of yesterday.

When we separate, when we fly to different corners,
When decades go by and all we have left is the past,
Are those still friends, or are they just matters
for the lonely heart to ponder on how it went by so fast?

I never thought my heart would ever come to this place
where doubts are shadows and the only lights left are two
really bright ones, but so many have flickered dead,
out of space,
What used to be a burning room of blue.