Poetry

UNTITLED (somthing about aches)

What I feel is not buried deep
I’m sorry if my heart feels the stir
know that pain doesn’t know how to skip
it comes with the ache as its pair.


I have tried right, to leave this sad song
shredded my skin all along
but if bitterness still ping its pong
then who am I if not man in a thin sketch
a wrong trail of line happy cannot fetch
who would wonder poets feel the same
black, tall or timid, the palm is made of mud
one to decay, nothing at the end of the game.
Religion of tears, laughter is still fraud
words are of page, the stage calls it fame
so when we spew them, only the mind feels it
as the two can touch themselves with no shame.
I lay it bare, with no footwear.
This one still hurts, its borders remain open
love was no issue, love felt like enough
time strangled the future with its tongue
while you think this is easy
know I sleep in an ocean
in the river of your eyes traveling through mine.
If we see at dawn, I will pretend its all fine
If we see in our dreams, I will pretend its all fine.

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