Through the shadowy grey
of who what when
the mornings are fuzzy

green of visitors that will dance
and laugh, tell stories
with many gestures

and always find a reason
to touch me and embrace
me intimately

It's all, but not enough
I don't want to crawl
away in my hole yet

Could I only hide
like the sun
and appear again

with wagtails in the garden
and playing children
outside

I made something-look
but it's no good

You gave the critic first
before I got to them...
Was it a shield,
or would I reach the dreamers field

I heard your message
and it struck

sticks to me  
like sandpapered honey

The bitter truth

Or a perspective
from you

At a fingertip’s distance, between you and me,
I met you somewhere upon this vast, turning globe.
With your bewitching gaze — I swear, I am in love.
But no, let it be, if your heart knows no bounds.
Come, meet me in the hub of my soul, where I dwell,
And see why I write, why I live, and why I long to be eternal.

With a bit of mud upon their peak
a pair of tiny birds ventured into our abode.
I asked my mother, tinged with excitement
“Mother! Why have they graced our home?”

“To craft their dwelling,” replied Mother.

My childhood routine altered—
to oversee the endeavors of those winged beings
and witness the splendid nest they shaped.

Then came the day when Mother uttered,
“The swallows have birthed their offspring.”

Swiftly,
the fledglings matured, mastering the art of flight
and on one uncertain day
they soared away from the nest
yet didn’t return.

My heart echoed the emptiness
of the now-deserted nest.

Mother sighed and shared,
“It appears, the fledglings have departed their nests.”

Weary of my persistent inquiries
regarding the rationale behind their departure
Mother, one day, responded with irritation—
“Their progeny has blossomed into adulthood
they’ve left the haven of the nest
bound to their mates
busy crafting a new abode afar.”

I rushed to Mother
clasped her in a tight embrace, and
with resolute tones, proclaimed,
“Mother! I’ll never make another home!
I’ll stay forever young!”

-०-

im often reminded of things long past gone from my life

of how impossibly far they are from my grasp

sometimes i think
im only meant for wanting,
only made to desiring
never to have
never to be close

ive learnt too early, maybe too deeply
that no matter how much your heart speaks
no matter how loud your longing is
some people do not turn back
some things just arent yours
no matter how much they feel like home

and sometimes letting go of that feeling,
that you are meant for something or someone,
is the only way forward

sometimes
the kindest thing you can do for yourself
is close your eyes
without asking the morning to come

Time goes by slower

           When I'm Desperate
                        
                        To know what you're doing