I watched you walk away,
Like I was an outsider,
Like I wasn't the one who loved you.
Not once did you look back—
Both of us proud,
Not wanting to break
And speak the words
That would turn everything around.

One stop, one wait,
One foot in front of the other,
Would ease the heaviness
Of watching you walk away.
But here I am,
Stuck, standing still,
The world seamlessly
Going on around me.

Part of me is stuck in the shadow,
Everything moving
From one axis to the next.
Another part of me realizes
That when the earth changes axis
And rotates the other way,
No one really feels it.

And here I am,
Stuck either way.
In time, even dust
Has to move

history invents the art of crying
writing its darkness manifesto
when the tear is hidden
the path follows a forced destiny.
what is there, to be found inside ourselves
something is looking at us
tribulations of mirage, the hazard of necessity
the word, the gun, the bone -
the threads of the revelation of time
sometimes history flows backwards
and my skull hurts like a broken umbrella
we taste the past, an obsessive memory
future, this Terra incognita, casts a muddy light
what is there to be found in the history of bones?

Unmask your own façade – that veil of one’s significance over
meanings to a meaningless question. We are just consumers in
this monotony of existence, a mere statistic for our emotions
being manufactured for the world’s grand theatre of parading,
one’s weakness.

And are we not taught how to measure worth by the measure
of things you acquire? We surrender to this illusion of perfect
love peddled on glowing screens; waiting on the glow of feelings,
to expect out hearts to glow by fire.

And I find control in this world an illusion; the tighter you hold
onto what you believe is yours, the more it slips through your
fingers – lest it be your own self-control; to tame your flesh that
leaks sin out of its pores. As time is an investment, but a currency
that only death can claim fully, when all our hours dwindle. Love
and hate are two sides of the same coin; as our capacity to love
fiercely, is matched only by our readiness to quickly hate when
the masses rally – though love is the stronger force to leave one
eager, or so fickle.

Life is simply everything and yet, paradoxically, nothing – as
nothing endures eternally, resting in the world. Life is sculpted
by the hand of a Creator, who calls his creations home as their
bones grows cold, and skins old.

Tis a poem on life.

This year, lunchtime seems to drag on,
When previously, before I knew it, it was gone.
What has changed?
It isn’t time.
It’s the sorrowful realization,
That friends can fade,
Just like the rain,
Before you know it,
Gone.
The silence,
Deafening,
The consequences,
Terminal,
I’ll never be the same.

Stood by the entrance of a coffee shop,
Dark green t-shirt, burnt papers in hand,
The last exam solved, the weight lifting off my shoulders.

Friends around, a drink in hand—laughter in the air.

If I had known that was the last time I’d see you,
I would have cherished every second.

I would have gone for the hug instead of the fist bump.

I would have taken a picture with you, by the mirror,
So time couldn’t steal the moment away.

I would have ignored the world—every friend, every noise—
And given you my full attention.

I would have frozen time in the moment we stood side by side.

I would have known that your journey home
Was the path that would separate us.

I would have looked into your eyes and stayed there,
My gaze filled with nothing but love.

Heartbreak is emotional entropy,
an inevitable unraveling, where love's warmth fades into the void, leaving only the cold, scattered remnants of what once was whole.

And as time stretches,
the heart begins to wane
it’s capacity to give, to hold,
to burn with the same intensity
growing dimmer and dimmer with each heartbreak.

For like energy lost to heat,
the heart's strength dissipates,
Unable to return to its original state.