Stock them high was the order of the day
In queues one by one, they flock shops
A social warehouse of common sales
Slashed home events, buy one get one

On a balcony I sip Chai Latte swiftly
Masses line up on spotlight street path
Each drawn in enterprises of expenditure
A dime for a good, a rhyme to amass more

Coloured triangle on the forehead illuminates
A third eye, a seer pry, mood eased to try
Our eyes meet and my tiled notebook melt
Sing my heart don't protest,soul free to sate

We lost in narrowed jungles strolling multiples
Outer casts giggling, deep withering multiplex
Pasted blocks of concrete as loneliness replies
A vice subtle, an automated paradigm in demise

I find no comfort in simple words,
I’ve heard too many lies for that.
Even actions I always question
For ulterior motives always act.
Say you love me, let me feel it;
It’s a challenge, I understand.
But let me know I’m worth it
For real love should withstand
All obstacles—wipe my tears,
Heal my pain, make me whole
When I’m incomplete—yet
With you, my hungry soul
Is empty, parched, in need
Of something genuine at last.
Please, I can’t help but believe
Our future’s in my past.
I fear we may have turned,
In our hesitation, obsolete,
What will it take for you
To feed me something concrete?

In the time you were gone, I found myself filled with extra space. Nothing too obvious; not gaping holes in my stomach, nor chunks from my arm. Rather, they were minute cracks that ensnared me. These unwanted holes appeared at random; when someone spoke of sandwiches, I felt a soft ***** in the back of my mind. When I encountered a full moon, I felt a throb in the tips of my fingers. And sometimes, when I caught sight of a dollar bill, a pang of nostalgia bit me somewhere deep down in my chest. This discomfort never lasted long. These cracks never formed one excruciating pain – the kind that fully consumes, but diminishes over time like a large hole in a wall that will soon be filled in. These cracks I felt, this empty space, it affected me demurely. As some cracks were filled in, new ones spread forth. My disrepair did not increase nor decrease in the years to come, but rather, spread out to different locations, as I patched and filled along the way. My foundation as a person grew perpetually flawed, yet remained stable enough to stay upright. My eventual remedy was to simply remember this; I am a structure made of concrete. Wear me down, and all you get is more concrete. In this way, it was okay that you were gone. In this way, I discovered the weight of time and also, the art of saying goodbye.

a candle burns bright

                       a                       t
intent   w                                                    s
          ­                         f

across the room
our world (in)action

→→→→→It doesn't matter←←←←←
             What                       you
           Do in                            life
          And                 ­              death
         And       inbetween        them;
         At            the end             of the
          Day       the wheels        keep
           On                                 going
           Round                         and
               So the                wheels
                  Just keep turning.