i’m starting to feel
less unhappy again,
numbness and apathy
empty my heart:
is more terrifying
than how it was
The universe has showered wondrous things
All of them—except his eyes—
Are the lives of starry nights.
They (his eyes) are dull and blunt
Who shall want their world to be drab?
A picture of his face is not worthy of this pen’s ink
Nor this stained paper from my old years.
The universe has given us wondrous things
All of them are marvelous and fine
Except him—my own world I named ‘life’.
the moment you regret letting her drown
is the moment she becomes
immune of water depths
I’ve gone to places where
I felt of turning into both
a newcomer and an outcast
I’ve met people who
made me feel both
relevant and non-existent
I’ve waited and hoped
and let myself drift into
other people’s worlds;
yet realized that those places aren’t
my home, and
those people aren’t