the night i let my heart play its course
i was curious
the night with no labels
i was comfortable
the night we celebrated you
i was content
the night you were knocked out
i was chilling
the night where we almost
i was complicated
none of it should have happened

(These are what never was and could not be.)
This is the world that never was.
(We sit at the edge of the world.)
If one door opens when another door closes then does one door close when another one opens?
(We are at the beginning so it’s after the end.)
Before thought.After thought. Same life.
(Nothing left to do but swallow each other and ourselves whole.)
Let yourself be cut to ribbons.
(Harm one, heal the other.)
We consume ourselves constantly.
(We are never satisfied nor disappointed.)
What is unseen is known to all.
(Are you far enough yet to return?)
We’ll eat ourselves alive if we keep on doing this.
(Good.I’m tired of all this, so let’s start again.)
We sit at the edge of the world.
(This is the world that never was.)

Once was only abuse, fear, neglect
burst into a legacy of faith, free will of intellect.
She knows men, her pain is fleeting
She has learned rejection thy objectify her shamelessly.
We were never equal, fighting seems hopeless
Ruled by a system, no courtship towards justice.
You never know you can only speculate
Your depth is shallow you can no longer intimidate.
Food for thought they say but her brain space is full
Obese with so much junk it has left her uncomfortable.
What is this? A joke? How can it be?
Reality seems elusive, a mixed insanity.
Her fingers tremble, like a cold bitter night in the desert.
Nothing in sight but the rolling hills of parched earth.
She is an enigma laying there stunned listening to the mix.
Her soul is a paradox because of all the experience.
Everything is slipping away and she knows this.

I could never put into words until now
the warm sensation of menstrual blood trickling down my hand
or the smell of dried blood stuck to public hair
and how every time I walked passed the butchers or deli department at the local grocery store
I could recognize the smell of blood dripping from tissue left on white sheets displaying the cuts of meat
sheets the same color as the toilet paper I use every month
to examine the clumps of the ****** that flow downwards
to be born life-less much like a flank stake behind the glass case

Every
"fresh start" I
seize. I paint myself a
different colour every time, only for the
tide to drag me in
and soak it
all
away, and it'll
dampen my spirit and flood
my lungs with seawater but it will
never submerge me no matter
how much I
beg
it to -- or
maybe it's because I beg
it to, and there's more joy to
be reaped in wounding me
with its grinning
denial.

Power of god, tremendous blast.
I hear screams of agony,
Torn by the divinest virtue.

A stand against death.
An exchange of stares.
Succumbement is not an option.

Melting and merging,
Tainting earth with my flesh,
I witness subliminal torture.

I withered until moons of past
Revealed the path towards future,
Gasping for breath i am moving to what
Lies still out of reach yet so soothing.

Far away from the realms of past
I have marked my revival from nightmare.
Departure delayed and i'm not out of strength,
Yet I'm empty within, left with nothing.

My pulse will echo through the lands
And i know that someone will return it.
The reason why i keep on through the death
Is to give strength to those who are forming.

The remnants of the world we kept safe for them
We entrust to their care wholly.

Quietly, I've waited here so long,
Day after day; but now I must return.
Food is cold, so is winter,
When will you return?

I see that now the window's bright again,
Sun has dawn, food is hot,
But you are naught.

time.
what is it really?
is it really just a ticking of a clock,
an indication of the day?
is it really just a reminder,
something to be taken for granted?
does it move ever too quickly,
or too slowly?

what is time?
is it a sound telling us
when to start,
when to end?

no.

time is all of these,
yet none of these
all at once.

time is ever-changing,
it moves,
breathes,
flows like the wind.

time is a boat,
taking us in for a ride,
floating on, ever slowly,
on the water called life.

time is a conductor of music,
telling us when to start, when to end,
when to move more quickly,
when to start again.

time is a rare diamond,
every second as precious
as a single star
in the night sky.

time brings change.
it shows us, ever so slowly,
how to live life,
how quickly to move,
how much we change
over such a short period of it.

time is essential,
without it, where would we be?
we wouldn’t change,
we wouldn’t age,
we wouldn’t move faster, slower—
we wouldn’t be pressured,
we wouldn’t really be living.

so what is time?
it is all,
yet also none of these,

all at once.

From the outside I am really a very silent person minding my own business but even in that silence, the 4 chambers of my mind work in synchronisation to detail the world outside. I am an observer. A silent, secretive and callous observer of every single detail which is around me.
She was the detail I missed deciphering. It was not that I didn't try but there was opacity in her thoughts. What ever be the verbiage, she remains an unsolved puzzle. She always will.
Her strange silhouettes are those which remain with me. I got a new pair of jeans and I observed that they smell differently.
In my old clothes, your fragrance exists. The new clothes surely lack them. I decided that it can not be the case that I live without a part of you in me. So I washed the old and new clothes together and now the 4 of us share your fragrance, you, myself, old and new clothes.
I have also not sold my bicycle which is cheap to the comparison of the one that I have now. It is only me who knows how expensive the old bicycle is.  Why?
That is because on this same cycle I had invoked in you a love for cycling. On this same cycle you and I have gone for long rides at 9 PM to grab some beers and drink together. Happily living the illusion of deserving a beer after much exercise.
I have changed the tyres of the old bicycle because they had worn out and it made my past look ugly.
On my face towards the left side of cerebral cortex, there is a profusion ( a very very very very very faint I must add) of a nerve and it makes the first alphabet of your name.
I guess, I have some one watching my efforts in keeping you alive in life. The result is that now physical body knows that as well what my mind always knew. You are one for me, today and ever after.
There can be no one who can invoke such monomaniacal stubbornness in me.
Thank You.
Post Scriptum: I do not edit my poems usually. If there is a typing error, please ignore.