lest

we forget

infinite means differently

think time, think love

or think distance

life does not go
the libran way
they never balance
the things you weigh
no word for my words
no shared dreams to delight
no garden stories for us
and no reassuring sunlight
instead, an omnipresent penalty
for seeking to play fair
the dissonance, the distance
and the sense of living unshared

in the mirror
where i should be
is it an amusement
that you see

in the days
that i seek to fill
your mindless devouring
my senses don't hold still

in the story
that i seek to weave
the themes run empty
and the characters leave

in the mirror
where I should be
there's just an amusement
that you're eyes wish to see

an abyss
it's no longer a gap
not even a distance

in her eyes
a question masked
do you remember
it pretends to ask
the wind that night
the steps to the sea
and the starry delight
as you veered towards me

a mellow yellow
shade of loneliness
to cover the grey patches
of being with and yet, without

the small change
of intentionality
in the bargain of joy
as we buy things
that were not offered
and sell those
we could never again afford
everything depreciates
like the shine on the new coin
of intention or the value of
that prized first ownership
of homes, hearts and dreams

after having roleplayed
our definite scripts of happiness
we struggled and tussled with reality
that illimitable untamed reality

would a sunflower
stuck into my hair
or the lilt of a song
or a smile more bare
color me a little less wrong?

a lack without a name
an unfulfillment
yet no ascribed blame
what can the earth
say about the moon
its own void its contentment
perhaps its too soon
but days melt to months
they form many years many tears
a full moon comes once in a month
yet it's blocked by black fears
a fatal continuity its existence
the earth doesn't rise, yet it sets
it grieves its disowned essence 
and loses more than it begets

how often
I used to see
the sun shine
through that face
the starry eyes
or absolute delight
in nothing but the days

through the prism
of sad reality
an illusory delight
glows in the company
of the bygone

every joy
and every hope
buried under the
weight of the wait

each day a new story
each day a bridge to mend
each day the same bridge falls
each day the same voice calls
each day it asks for an end
each day the same bridge to mend

normalcy is a conspiracy
like in each symbolic beginning
lies a perpetual end
both seen yet unseen
relentless yet ignored
meaningless yet sought

i may not be a sinner
but i am no saint
if fulfillment had a color
i'd have loved to paint
but color, paper and strokes
is that all it takes for fulfillment
then why do I find myself again

seeking another's testament

futility always find a home
but dreams
in search of a heart, they roam
only to be found
like old books, left behind
in  futility's rush, it had a home to find

the owner of my waking thought

is so deeply sought 

so deeply sought

some years

cannot be reduced to words

like the sun

they explode into

our realm of existence 

and become all we ever lived

life is a perpetual morning after
the shine in the eyes is gone
the warmth in the hands is missing
and the heady smell of the midnight air is distant