#wandering
Eyes no need to strain or widen
To catch and find the one who's strung.
tangled and etched within the flakes of my skin
We’ve grown tired of untangling
Tired of unstrangling.
I wished to drill everything
My care, my worry, my love
Into their left *****
Or to what they say was there.
Because recently its in the pit of my stomach
My gut, my hands, my curveless smile.
Ive been stretched ive been drowned
My whole being is they
I find my breathing shallow
More often than not.
Because my world where they’re central
Never tells me to breathe.
Seems unessential.
Seems conventional.
They are the life
A life breathed through them.
Air thats not they
seems too impure
But I breathe.
they breathe out and I breathe
so their carbon dioxide leaves
only to enter mine.
As a reminder to stay.
Stay in this world
not them.
unless.
. . .
Unless we get away together
Leave the world that's tangled us.
And they wish the same
Which I know they must.
The air here has thickened.
The strings have reached our necks.
I can give you the air to breathe
Like how you continue to give me mine.
When the air here turns thin
Well be higher out of reach
May 23
May 23, 2026 at 1:52 PM UTC
Wandering /
Through the storm /
Pining, /
To find my home /
So far, so far, /
To go. /
Still have yet to find my home /
So far, so far, to go. /
Still I, /
Still I, /
Can’t /
Let go. /
(—Se’ lah)
03-26-2026
Apr 1
Apr 1, 2026 at 12:23 AM UTC
A poem is like a lost traveller
wandering muddy roads
before finding its way
home to starlight
Mar 31
Mar 31, 2026 at 3:08 PM UTC
Above the people,
on different streets,
I walk.
My streets are white
and soft, and
they aren't crowded.
Instead of people,
there are fantasies,
creatures and dreams.
I walk on clouds,
not caring for
mundane rain.
Mar 25
Mar 25, 2026 at 11:14 AM UTC
When I walked,
the city purred under me.
(It showed me things)
I’m turning my back
on a certain aesthetic
where the houses
stand
at right angles
in shades of black and white
and straight aluminum.
A look that colonized my thoughts
with youthful promises of
Bohemia.
I’m a traitor.
So I seek twirly things.
And when the city towers,
I curl.
And when the city rages,
I moan.
So the dance ensues
with me, lusting over rust
over seagull ****
over peeling whispers
and earthy hues,
and with her
purring,
in heat
Mar 23
Mar 23, 2026 at 4:28 PM UTC
Thrown out from the warmth I knew,
family gone, love slipped through.
No friends to turn to, no work in hand,
just an empty mind in a shadowed land.
I wander, searching for a sign,
a path, a spark, a life that’s mine.
In the darkness, I stumble and bend,
hoping somewhere lies a quiet end—or a new begin. ✨
Mar 17
Mar 17, 2026 at 2:40 AM UTC
A coat, my hat, my shoes,
my feet and my eyes.
That's all I need.
I shall walk, I shall see
wandering through these streets.
Look there!
What is that?
It's a man with a tall hat—
it's a chef cooking pig gut—
it's a tree being chopped down—
that's what that is.
Now, look there!
Those are tourists—
taxi drivers—
ice cream sellers—
or walkers like me.
All of that I shall see
with my coat, hat, and shoes—
with my eyes and my feet.
Mar 10
Mar 10, 2026 at 1:45 PM UTC
A friend of mine
though I never met him
a man, a soul, as to a soul,
spoke of fish as ideas,
ideas as spirit,
spirit as if a dream.
You sleep but do not dream
when you dive for the big fish.
There they wait
your whims and themes
below the murky depth.
And I,
a flower upon the waking world.
I am lesser for your passing,
but know your words live on,
and therefore I still fish
fish for the big fish
in that murky dark.
I know my fish still waits.
So I dream in its dark slumber,
waiting, waiting, waiting.
The tendrils of my means
creep out to find me,
saying
wait, wait, wait
your life is still not complete.
But reveries of old,
stories never told,
a deep dark mist,
a yearning hollow,
a dust of dusk tomorrow,
a heart like a sea
silent after the storm has died.
That
and there
this again.
We are glorious suns died
in a city without sun,
a world beyond sin,
a hope so ancient
it is embedded on our eyelids,
a yearning so deep
we cannot sleep without it.
As I age,
as I dream,
the fish never sleep.
But I
I fish.
Fish for my big fish.
Still.
Feb 22
Feb 22, 2026 at 9:30 AM UTC
She holds her hand to the skies as she runs, praying she would find it again if she dare fall.
Hands beaten and laced with thorns- still she runs. Knees bent backwards- cracked and flaked blood floating to the ground.
(And the only thing she sees is the next thing in front of her.
Desperate to reach the next).
She trips- vines curling around her legs.
(Rest, Child- She would imagine they would say to her).
Her form breaks.
She is laid in mud- exhausted. And yet, she rises again.
Eyelashes glued together- she does not bother clearing them.
All she can do is run.
Again,
she trips.
The branch of an oak tree bringing her knees to the ground- she falls into a shallow cut in the Earth.
She is forced to rest.
She imagines the
Oak
is what causes berries to fall into her crevice- allowing her to heal. Moss condensed with water falling near her.
She does not pretend to understand.
If she has been running and running- why is she stopped now? But she is tired.
The next thing is so far away.
She lays- she rests- but she rises again. Knees straightened and healed- hands covered in moss. She is tired yet- she always has been, a fact of life she believes it-
but the next thing does not seem so far away.
Feb 21
Feb 21, 2026 at 3:49 AM UTC
… to the wayward wind
and those tumbling tumbleweeds.
Blowing through unshorn locks, thinking
why, we have always known, we think
we can agree with the songs on the radio,
as they were the ones that lulled us to sleep,
what we were destined to be was but a guess,
what we saw was us not being actually normal,
very odd, as if we had been born saved and free,
as was our first impression of being an American,
ready reader granted Little Golden books, for seeing
ah, see, once, I won The Little Engine That Could, by
cunningly looking under the blind fold to pin the tail.
I was five, and looking back, strange, I read that book
right then and there, I thought I could, I think I can, yet
to this day pay enough attention to make a difference,
in what gets thought about just now.
Writing wild ideas remembered as mere what ifs, now
we can do the ritual action, just imagine, answered prayer
why, given a way a will can make a mind up, and stretch it
past all we never even thought to ask, as a person
pursuing happiness, after annihilation became thinkable.
The Wreck of the old 97,
probably was one we'da heard of,
had we been around back when, radio
was in the home, we called home a while,
when baby sister had yet to be born,
we were the best kid in the world,
momma said.
Oh, woe, old recognate weights,
trade me your MAGA lie, I'll give you
my dust bowl refugee story, it's same
as some, far stranger than many, it seems
we all heard the same songs at once, we did,
make believe beliefs we shared, singing along
with wandering winds in wayward minds,
humming along as seemingly satisfied minds,
born next of kin, to the wayward wind, then,
given grace to put down roots and ramify wildly
become the oak I sit below, what's it like, branching
whither ever rooted self evidence was likely to appear
to convince me, I did not really die in my proud rage.
Jan 29
Jan 29, 2026 at 2:24 PM UTC
Alone I walk beneath the burning rays,
I wait for rain that never seems to fall.
Relief of shade has never met my gaze;
I wonder if I'll find it after all.
Where winds would blow, now silence fills the air.
I'm seeking life within this endless maze.
Mirage of hope is what I truly fear;
I yearn to quench this thirst I've known for days.
A cloud above has overcome the sun,
I feel the grace fall down on me like rain.
A tree stands still beside a river's run,
Even hell has beauty that it contains.
Nor shell nor thorn can stop the flowers bloom,
Through fate, I shall find my home again soon.
Jan 26
Jan 26, 2026 at 4:27 PM UTC
And when you wander a lot in this world...
Go through every pain in this life...
Then you realize...
It is not about finding something...
But...
It is about... The moment...
Moment... Where your every search end...
Where your every question is answered...
You don't have to wander anymore...
Go through all this...
Because you see the end now...
And while looking at it...
You think to yourself...
How beautiful it is...
That it was all worth it...
Worth it of all this journey...
All this suffering...
And all this searching...
And you can let go of everything easily...
At this point...
End is not the end anymore...
But may be a new beginning...
Oct 9, 2025
Oct 9, 2025 at 11:37 PM UTC
Her screen was full
And upon a Glance
She would see
photos
Notes
Videos
And Messages
All scraps of stories
Memories, loves, and wanders
And she would wonder
Was there ever more
Should there be more?
More to this
More to her
Or maybe
Just maybe
There was meant to be less
And looking for life through a screen
Was never meant to be
Jun 18, 2025
Jun 18, 2025 at 10:53 PM UTC
Sometimes we lay there at night, talking for hours upon hours until the morning light.
You exist in head, my heart and my soul for free, one of life's late night mysteries.
Jun 2, 2025
Jun 2, 2025 at 2:01 AM UTC
From all the troubles.
Don't make them double.
Through all the pain,
Under this harsh rain.
Apr 17, 2025
Apr 17, 2025 at 1:10 PM UTC
My head is empty,
I think there's a hole,
Because every time I fill it up,
It all seems to go.
Did my inspirations take a walk,
Is my talent wandering?
Where are my thoughts,
One empty head,
That's all I've got.
Mar 7, 2025
Mar 7, 2025 at 10:26 AM UTC
तलाश है खुद की, न जाने कहाँ गुम हो गया हूँ,
कभी जंगलों में, कभी पहाड़ों में फिर रहा हूँ।
हो मुलाकात किसी दिन, यही आस है मुझे,
बस इस उम्मीद में, दरबदर फिर रहा हूँ।
Feb 20, 2025
Feb 20, 2025 at 2:51 PM UTC
Wandering, searching for the wind,
An empty vessel, lost and adrift.
Steering toward a forgotten destination,
To a place that deals only in absolutes;
Where rain and storm dare not cloud our path.
When we wake from the slumber of darkest nights,
There is glory in the redemption of dawn,
Rising anew to embark on a sacred descent,
As it crescendos in majestic golden hues,
Hypnotic, dissolving into the horizon
Feb 9, 2025
Feb 9, 2025 at 8:50 PM UTC
Ke tere hi khayaalon mein dil ye mera dhadakta raha,
Main teri hi chaahaton mein ab tak yoon bhatakta raha.
♡♡♡♡♡♡♡
That in your thoughts, this heart of mine kept pounding,
Desiring you, around the world until now I kept wandering.
Jan 28, 2025
Jan 28, 2025 at 9:01 PM UTC
Wandering shadows drift upon my street,
They stop outside my door begin to speak:
Halum hecat.
They peer through glass as though they see my face,
They wave at me as if to call my name,
And with dry voices whisper through the space:
Nehim ruhat.
Perhaps I should be gripped by dreadful fear,
Hide in my bed beneath the blankets tight,
Scream out and wake, relieved to find it clear—
It was a dream, a fragment of the night.
But I feel no fear. Instead, I’m curious,
And like a dream, I slowly start to drift
Toward those shadows, whispering to us:
Sahat lehud.
A shiver runs through every vein and bone,
I press my palm against the icy pane,
And from the shadows, rising like a moan:
Khalim tahud.
I see a thousand shadows writhe in night,
They signal me, they press against the glass,
And from their whispers, delicate yet slight,
A single voice like balm begins to pass:
Tahil latham.
Perhaps a dying soul’s faint shadow calls,
Or one unborn, whose heart has yet to beat.
And something in me rises, breaking walls—
I answer in their tongue, obscure, discreet:
Tahat naham.
Then I dissolve into the misted pane,
I pass beyond into the frozen dark.
And I become a shadow lost, profane,
To roam the streets forever, without spark.
And I will softly cry:
Naum tahit.
And I will cry aloud:
Halum hecat.
Jan 20, 2025
Jan 20, 2025 at 7:46 AM UTC
These cold days,
Poetry is all I've got.
Where snow falls solemnly from looming clouds,
The only thing I surround myself with are words.
I miss the spring city,
Nothing could penetrate my armor of love.
For now that December has made it's descent, I am left in winter song,
Alas, for poetry, who's warm heart could melt the ice of sorrow.
Where will the fae dance tonight?
For reading poetry it makes my heart soar, and it makes my heart sore.
Snowflakes lace the winter grave of Autumn leaves,
And poetry, a silent goddess in the wind, has captured my tongue.
Where is the sun? In this winter's song,
For poems are the light in my dark.
Cold, the fingers that hold my pen,
Verse warms my soul.
Where am I? In this winter's song.
Dec 18, 2024
Dec 18, 2024 at 12:27 PM UTC
in this mind
forever wandering
lots of repetition
Sep 1, 2024
Sep 1, 2024 at 12:18 AM UTC