My favourite colour is his brown skin the blue sky
Before me, my childhood stands,
A colonial entwined with anarchic vines-
Maturing realizations.
What is love? An itch to set your house on fire?
What colour are the walls?
Not brown. Not blue.
......
We are trapped in the past, oblivious to the fact, today is eternity.
The light of the past can only be used to illuminate the futures darkness
Today’s eternity provides the opportunity of perpetual growth
And to utilize the past’s light to travel through the darkness of the future
I’m sorry to those who carry my shadow,
For no soul should ever bear such weight.
I am a girl, barely begun to understand the world,
Yet I've tasted its bitter lessons too early—
Each one leaves a scar that whispers,
"Don't trust, don't hope, don't dream."
If there’s a touch that could reach me, soft and kind,
Without the weight of ghosts in its hands,
That would be the first.
......
Sometimes I wonder, what makes the heart so cruel,
When forgiveness blooms in the soil of a soul’s duel.
If I, broken and bent, can rise from the wreck,
Can bury the ghosts, and silence the wrecked,
Why can’t they let go, leave me in peace,
And allow me the breath of a soft release?
I don’t ask for riches, or a word of praise,
Not even a promise, not even a gaze.
Though they tore from me every spark, every light,
......
We all know the path
which had come across.
We live in the present
by the promises of future
and lessons of the past,
If the lessons are weak and
the promises mean to break
The Present has no meaning.
Here is the question
What are you gonna learn
......
I often stop to think about where you might be.
I stare into space and wonder about how we buried our dreams without saying a word.
And when the came and you said you were moving, I made sure to leave you first.
It's the insecurity of enjoying life alone that guts me to my core and rattles me deeper than bone.
I can't say I don't think about us 5 years ago.
Drunk under the stars with your arm as my pillow.
It wouldn't be true to say you didn't treat me right.
But it wouldn't be false if I said that sometimes when I was with you, I felt colder than winter's driest nights.
......
My silent stories are fading.
Unthought and nearly forgotten.
Testimonies published since grade 8,
But the chronicles, less of an epilogue.
I think about writing sequels,
But the narratives never change.
It starts with me and ends the same.
Merely less of who I used to be.
......
Sometimes I wonder, what makes the heart so cruel,
When forgiveness blooms in the soil of a soul’s duel.
If I, broken and bent, can rise from the wreck,
Can bury the ghosts, and silence the wrecked,
Why can’t they let go, leave me in peace,
And allow me the breath of a soft release?
I don’t ask for riches, or a word of praise,
Not even a promise, not even a gaze.
Though they tore from me every spark, every light,
......
I’m sorry to those who carry my shadow,
For no soul should ever bear such weight.
I am a girl, barely begun to understand the world,
Yet I've tasted its bitter lessons too early—
Each one leaves a scar that whispers,
"Don't trust, don't hope, don't dream."
If there’s a touch that could reach me, soft and kind,
Without the weight of ghosts in its hands,
That would be the first.
......
Nostalgia is a lighthouse
shining its light for new ships
Nostalgia enjoys what is,
no desire for things to change,
but ere long, Nostalgia watches
as the ships sail away
so Nostalgia waits
......