Dreams So Vivid, They Blend With Our Realities.

Dreams so vivid, they blend with our realities.

石獅

I’ll come back

As the stone lions that guard the temple.

Reach your hand into my mouth

-If you dare-

For luck…

For I was carved with a bone to pick,

Whittled inside my cheek to check

The pluck

Of man.

Fortune favors the braver the pleader

And I am brave by far…

I know where those hands

Have been.

_____________________________

Maureen Armstrong @haikkun

being lost feels so hollow my anchor's gone. i drove him away sent a piece of my heart in each of the letters its cracked and bruised and forgotten now your words stayed with me forever either casting an ethereal glow or leaving bloodstains that mark me i've hurt and i've bled by your hand but your hand was the one that held mine too no matter how much i try i can't help going back to you got lost and found again, but the scars stayed forever couldn't find myself again, lost in the darkness you held my hand all okay, super spy, crazy together, i love you, so do i burnt from the fire that took the darkness out you don't know it, but you healed me more than the doctors ever could best thing, cool, cool, lost you, not the same, we're friends destroyed the one place i felt safe my happiness will be my own demise disappearance, out of body experience, teenage angst i've experienced it all my life is a parody of icarus' fall your words stayed with me forever mine didn't reach you at all

the el counterpart

the mike counterpart

I'm reading with my sister

A book about a boy almost

As good as the brother we

Both used to have & I know

I am only a pale placeholder

An eyelash in the blink of loss

But we paint the pain with

Love grown thick—

We know the agony of a

Phantom limb waving

Beyond the stars, a

Canopy flutters

A rusty almirah may hold

no importance to any,

But it was his favourite.

It belonged to his inamorata.

It stood in the corner

Beside his bed, governing.

The magenta colour blazing

in the dimly lit, dusty room.

Every saree in the almirah,

a colourful page of their life.

He'd run his fingers through

the soft material, gratified.

In his days of strength

He complained, repeatedly

When she stood in front of

The almirah deciding on her attire.

The stickers had decided to

stay longer on the skin of it,

Some scraped and some attached

Each telling about a trend then.

In his claustrophobic life,

The almirah stored contentment.

The key to it too; held a sweet

Monochrome picture of his wife.

He'd sometimes stand still in front

Of the mirror of the almirah

looking deep within as if

He could meet her eyes through.

The rusted handle cold,

much like when he last

held her hand tight with

no absolute warmth or pulse.

Now grey with weakness,

He only wishes the almirah

To stay by his side, making

up for his late wife's presence.

-Umme Ayman.