Who am i
I am a mote of sand
Shifting through
The winding dunes
Of time
I am a scratched leaf
Swaying under the
Whims of wind
Through the vast
Unending brows
Of forests
In this planet
I am a tiny
Drop of rain
Melding with the
Arterial waterways
Thus
I am an infinitesimal
Speck of life
Amid the infinite circle
Of an inordinately
diverse life
But how am i
I am alive
I can breathe
I can percieve
By myself
Independently
And this is the
Sole reason
Why i should aim
To be contented
With how
I exist
Isn't it

there’s no such thing as
‘No time’
in reality,
there’s no such thing as time
and here we are
heeding it’s every move
praying for more
cursing too much
impatient to wait
eager for arrival

will man ever be content?

only time will tell.

The ghost is stranded in the thriving desert.
The ghost is trying to find asphalt paths.
The ghost climbing over dunes, sweaty with effort.
The ghost is lost but it never looks back.

The ghost finds water in spiky poles.
The ghost seeks comfort in the burning sand.
The ghost prays for stars when the moon shines alone.
The ghost is lost but it never looks back.

The ghost looks for home every day
but the farther it's gone the more it's astray.
The ghost sits in scorching contentment.
The ghost is thriving in what is now its home.

it’s getting cold.
her work begins to pile up on her desk,
paper cascading around her off the table,
sitting ignored as she thumbs through a book,
humming softly.

and she feels ever colder,
because though she knows the sun will touch her face one last time,
she feels the impending sense of everything changing.
her freedom, her sleep, and all those books
-piling up around her in dizzying towers she can’t seem to hold upright.

each poem has become an ode.
no longer does she right those summer love poems,
notes of dreams and pining and romance.
she’s grown lonely,
and grown up.

each ode is to who she was
-the kind girl with the widest eyes and strong opinions,
this new girl with no focus,
drifts and watches the ink run down the page.
she’s so worried, because she doesn’t care.
and doesn’t care about that.

tomorrow will be better,
she says, sighing with tiredness repeating over and over again.
tomorrow.
tomorrow.
tomorrow.

but the pounding in her head won’t go away,
and all the doubts sink in
-you’ve lost your edge.
-you’re not doing enough.
-you’re never going to do enough unless you break.

her heart seems to beat colder,
slow down and she’s not that old.
she’s young, and she feels herself,
the brightness and ambition disappearing,
and they’re replaced by content and a sense of emptiness.

i'll tell you my woes
peel the corners of my skin
and though the whispers turn into silence,
i am whole.

i found the missing piece
heard the echo of your words
and though i know it is a little too late,
i am whole.

i fall apart
fragment by fragment
and you are finally here just as i close my eyes,
i am whole.

i loved to paint using your colour.

i’d go day and night, from one canvas to another, using different shades of you to paint all kinds of pictures.

i never lost any ideas.
i never had to find inspiration.
it all just comes to me whenever i look at you.

one day, i woke up colour blind. and unfortunately, it’s in your colour.

all the paintings, all the sketches, all the canvasses that were of your colour, plastered, hanged, and taped all over my walls doesn’t make sense anymore.

it was all grey. all dull. a colour i know existed but never really tried using before.

i tried searching for your colours in the things you’ve touched. the words you’ve said. i searched everywhere but whenever i do think your colour will come back, my eyes revert to reality.

now you’re just a memory.

your colour will only exist inside my mind.

those shades i loved. the pigments i crave to achieve every time i stroke my brush. it’s all in my head now.

it’s been years now. your colour isn’t as bright as i thought my memory would remind me of.

i paint with a different colour now.

actually, i paint with all the colours now except yours.

all those nights i spent painting, it’s with every colour i come across but yours.

now my wall’s full of colour again. all from different parts of me. colours i never knew existed.

now,

i’m happy. i’m content.

i’m colourful.