In a distant memory
You once said:
My complements felt like eulogies
being carved onto your skin
that sometimes sadness lasted longer
when there were people around
We have since learnt silence without the absence,
waiting for openings to sneak a hug like emotional prowlers
Sailing in separate relationships
Some texts drown in the sea
when we send them in the cracked bottles
of unsure tomorrows and fragile egos
Not so long ago
I said that “beauty” is what they called
a self portrait of a man with a severed ear
and its scary how you demanded the same meaning
when I had moulded many statues of that word
in the form of the silly little things you did.
We have found shelter in the same sins
that clipped our wings in each other’s scars.
The ones that harden our skin,
the armours that dress us when we drop the leaves,
those lessons that were tucked carefully
between our heartbeats.
Some days
I drag myself out of your expectations
like an aged sun that needs pulleys to rise
You sit in front of a cropped mirror
as if it were the sky,
rediscovering the stars
that once congregated around eyes
White Flags
As long as we have time to weave a canvas,
this portrait will forever change
and these scars will one day
shade the craquelure background
of an imperfect masterpiece
framed in the emotional hoard museums
of a man who learnt that silence is a language too
and a woman who rescued beauty from her purse
and restored it in her heart
Even After All The Suffering