There he was,
In his vividly printed top and pressed trousers
Beaming like crazy
And minds have never been more visionary

There he smiles,
A breathing myth, a folklore
And hearts suddenly touched each other in places
where none has touched before

There he walks,
A knight with no sword, nor rose
But eyes, certainly, have never seen a star this close

And there he goes, he holds my hand
And time, for once, came to rest, instead of run



words I should be telling you
are suspended
at the tip of my tongue

So when you ask me
“what’s wrong?”
I can only make out
the easy

And the words
you didn’t hear
died in my lips
and aged with time

I have grown a forest
out of the things
I didn’t tell
and if you listen well
you’ll hear the rain
came from the
questions you never ask
and the weight
drags on every day
that you’ll find my smile
prepared to break
set to die

You see,
when words left
Silence knocked
and asked me
to pack my bags
and let go

but you said
“please, let’s fix this”
“listen to me”

I knew I have to throw this away
I should let go
I knew I have to leave
I should be telling you
are suspended
at the tip of
my tongue

In Extremis

I’d leave my corpse in your hands and my name on your skin,
so you’ll never forget that I’d live there

I’ll house you in a graveyard and
bury you like roots and coffins,
for you to feel how it’s like to be left alone

With frost and rain, I want to efface your memory
and I’ll teach you my name
it will be the only words your lips will kiss,
the only tale you’ll tell

I hope you fall like rain,
forced in its downfall,
lonely and shapeless
with nowhere to go,
nothing to do,
but fall

Because when you leave, you used the windows and
leave winter to sleep in my bed
and now sunlight is a stranger touching my skin
my body is a map of your lost expeditions
but I’m the only one presumed lost and
you, the only surviving member

Now I dream, cloth with the memory of your face
enduring what remains of my withering self

She is a Book

I AM A BOOK. Opened by many. Read by few. Understand by one.

My covers are illusions. Alluring yet dangerous. Yet still many tried to unravel me.

Too many tried. Too many failed.

For their eyes only see what’s visible, neglecting what’s beyond the canvas.

Few. Too few have crossed the boundaries and read between the lines. But my words are powerful.

And my sentences are explosion that shattered those who read. Confused those who depict.

After one crack, one explosion, most of them turned their backs away leaving the book behind.

But one stayed.

YOU stay.

Despite every dead pages and ugly sheet of papers, you remain.

Despite every missing lines and loose words, you hang on.

You lived with the fragility of the book.

You accepted the imperfection and blemishes.

You understand that understanding is not always ‘knowing all’.

That understanding is tolerance.

That understanding is acceptance.

And you said “the book changes you”.

But what you don’t know is you changed the book more than it changes you.

It became your best friend.

It is yours like no one ever have. Never, ever have.

And the book always loves you back.

Because she is a book. Opened by many. Read by few.Understand by one.