Wednesday, 16 May 2018

A Thousand Lives and A Thousand Solitudes

I don't think it likes
most of what remains on its skin.

I have seen it sin
and I have seen it cry;
but most times it hurdles
both its knees in fear.

Behold - held ajar a verse
at the tips of its fingers.

It memorizes the foreign language
from a century dead and gone;
like numbers, the years, it remembers,
like the embedded age of grandfather trees.

For many times I witnessed it
clasping a tight grip
on its threaded misery
that is left undone;
left missing,
and it stays content only when they're gone.

So be it - it halted the Sun
and it is its claim: to brand new names
brand new lives,
brand new solitudes.

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