oh September,
my September.

it’s that time again where my world is filled with the color orange.
the times I see the world in a vibrant hue through the youthful lenses of my eyes.
I carry the warmest smiles, though at times it’s only superficial.
yet, this year, I chose my color to be grey.
for no particular reason.
I think I’m growing fond of everything in between:
of nothing too scarce or nothing too much.

then I saw you.
you, who is the color orange.
what an odd thing to say.
i don’t like orange.

well, i think you're more of a grey than any other color.
you stand out and, at the same time, you don’t.
I got curious and maybe stared for a little too long.
then I saw it, orange.

oh september,
my september.

hi.
your smile is warm.
what makes you smile?

hi.
your eyes are sweet.
like freshly picked tangerines.

will I ever get the chance to see your world?
even if it’s just a page.
how does the sunset look when it’s reflected in your eyes?
is it lovely?

oh september,
my september.

it’s autumn somewhere.
my favourite season.
it’s such a shame there’s nothing like that in here.
I always long for autumn.

here, it’s always the rainy season, if not summer.
but my heart wonders how autumn feels.
then I saw you, by the window, and ****** that sun for shining too bright.

you, my autumn.
another beginning for my yearly bittersweet melancholy.
that hint of orange in your presence is enough for me to know,
even in my world of greys, my autumn will always come.

oh september,
my september.

everything and everyone is moving.
too quick, too fast, too much.
grey.

yet, you, my orange,
where do you look in world of greys?
what color catches your eyes?
is it pink? is it blue?
what is my hue to you?

oh september,
my september.

time is running out.
will I even get a chance to hear you speak my name across the room?
or will winter come, leaving you, my autumn?

the change is too quick.
you’ll just slip past by this chapter.
still, I want you to linger for a little longer
even if we remain strangers.

oh september,
My September.

there’s something missing in everything that I wrote.
my incomplete words are no better than strangers.
only I could fill in those blanks that you left unwritten.

after all, I was the only one in this love that is unrequited.
the only one who keeps on loving in autumn.
a love that doesn’t exist in your world.

My Dear,

I’m tongue-tied — I may not be able to say much. It’s been a long time since I looked into your eyes. In the rush of the day we never find a single quiet moment for ourselves.

If I speak, you’ll tell me you have no time for these childish whims. Fine — I’ll stop saying it. But if you ever feel like it, put out the dim light in your room and stare, blank-eyed, at the ceiling for a while. Maybe then you’ll feel what I feel; maybe you’ll see what’s inside me, and notice how wide the distance has grown.

What do you think? That I’m only being cryptic? You see nothing but darkness. There is no place left for jokes — my days and nights are full of nonsense.

Go ahead, add a couple more complaints to the list. Lately I’m beyond ordinary sorrow; call me an enlightened sage if that comforts you. I won’t tell another lie — I’ll try to speak only what’s true from my heart. No — I will tell you nothing but the truth. These sleepless nights have become unbearably irksome.

I’m tongue-tied; I won’t explain the reasons to anyone. You needn’t worry. Keep living your life as you do. I’ve learned a new craft: weaving stories — many lies, a little truth, and mostly imagination.

Enough of that. I’ve rambled so much I forgot the real thing I wanted to say: I miss your smile. I miss it a great deal. Without it, your face looks hollow and empty.

Always,
Someone

Undress me with light of your eyes,
for i long to be engulfed in.
by mere glances i feel purified,
as raven in sun- lit forest.
those stares tore down the sins,
i wonder about pure bliss.
these clothes flow upon my body,
They stick and make me sick but oh,
Oh, how i long to be undressed.
Both by the body and soul.
So, undress me with light of your eyes my love.
As i no longer can befall.

Quiet calls my name from the clouds.
I lost my wings,
a deafening reality.
Quiet calls my name from the clouds.

oh,
how the tragedy speaks for itself with me in its arms.
It speaks about vile i let in and followed through life.
It gushes on given blood to a vampire It applauds me,
For venturing in woods,
Fighting with wolves,
shedding skin off for a family of cruels,
It repeats my sins over my dead body to make sure i remain buried.
I've lived in pages others skim through,
Pages where ink is bruised too,
all along i've been in a story that must be abolished through and through.
I could've been a sonnet of love,
memerising everyone to above,
yearning, longing for the ones i love
i gave myself to the above.
The times passed between my fingers,
As steadily sand passes through,
all alone i whisper
Will the life regret me too?