The end
A poignant secret
See

You're my type of breeze
The height of trees
Whispering in the arms of wind

Bilee Ning Majangdu Phoorikho |
Buha Rong Buthuni Khim ||
Khim Khrip Khebo Khajasisi Klydu |
Bukhe Naihi Khripbo Gamanghi Thaoodu ||
Sir! Jumuthuni Khe Laisi Sibringma |
Gadain-Gadain Garao Khe Silingma ||
Jumuthuni Phoorikho, Bilee Ning Majangdu Khim Lai
Pede Khhele Ning Thanglama Phoorikho Khe  Baalaohi ||

It’s like hands around my throat,
or plastic around my head.
It’s suffocating with the words I wrote,
and the ones I had never said.

I see you everywhere but beside me,
the one place that I need you the most.
I don’t know if you’ve just felt like hiding,
but it feels like I’m being stalked by a ghost.
I think of my life consisting of just time biding,
with parasitic emptiness and I’m the host.
This hits me like waves I am meant to be riding,
and it follows me persistently from coast to coast.

The grass didn’t seem so green back then
I guess all that constant rain did pay off,
‘cause now this little future’s just a casual friend,
and my god looking back the past was soft.
It’s not like I always want to be drenched in sorrow,
I find I look much better in brown, blue or grey,
you know I’d trade in every tomorrow
for just one more yesterday.

I hear every voice but yours in my ears,
the deafening noise has made me forget that sound,
since I’ve heard that sweet melody it’s been too many years,
and every other pitch makes my static brain pound.
I’m always biting my lip but now I’m fighting tears,
I shake my head side to side and around.
I’m quickly losing stamina from battling my fears
and now looking forward to my hole in the ground.

The skies never seemed clear and blue back then,
it turns out that I was the creator of each cloud,
I’m hoarding past calendars so that I can pretend
that I’m back in time and making everyone else proud.
If you’ve got a hour or two that I can borrow,
I swear I’m good for it and whatever price; I’ll pay,
‘cause you know I’d trade in every tomorrow
for just one more yesterday.

I feel you all over, laced in everything,
if it wasn’t such a curse, it’d be a gift.
You’re the peace in winter and the hope in spring,
you’re the summer sun and autumn’s winds so swift.
I’m relieving every memory, looking for a place to cling,
I remember all of the details but the clarity is now adrift.
Side to side, back and forth, I constantly swing,
it pulls and drags me down but it can also give the highest lift.

The sun never seemed to shine right back then,
but maybe I was just too busy looking for artificial light.
I was never one for second looks but I should’ve searched again,
because everything I wanted was already in my sight.
So I plant a seed hoping it will eventually grow
and I sculpt all I wish for with clay,
‘cause you know I’d trade in every tomorrow
for just one more yesterday.

The writer is unwritten until he writes;
But ne’er of the unwritten does the written writer write.