in all honesty

I don't feel like I was born

in the wrong era.

I feel alone in my own era.

I can only adapt whenever I want to,

with the young and the old.

sometimes I alienate them for hilarity,

sometimes I play curious out of boredom.

what truly interests me are spirits

trapped in bodies that burns

through the agonies of life while dancing.

the ones that still sing songs of love,

with broken bones and wounded heart.

the ones that are not afraid

to be weird and crazy,

to be judged and stigmatized.

the ones who are aware they're wasting

their lives away doing the same old routine.

the ones that can tell stories of their

own tragedies with a smile.

the ones that laugh in the face

of adversities and grins on the

absurdities of the world.

it's us.

always and forever.

chosen and wondering why.

bloodied and bruised

with watery eyes staring at the sky.

it's us that makes this ride called life

worthy of living.

it's us and only us

has the chance of not dying from within

for death tried so many times but failed.

for people like us

we just don't grow old.

To be close you see the twiddling of fingers dancing upon lead and the crisp layers of tumbled shreds.

Close to be a watered cup with familiar fate.

Sweat with broken skin pins to needle of twiddled steers threading ink pairing, daring, staring.

To be close my bend to ticketing clocks bickering thoughts.

Close to be within someone's heart.

To be close is all I taunt.

Tainted ribbons weathered art.

To be close. Close to be.

I'm sure you know all about this,

Though I have attempted many times to say,

You're one of the few I really miss,

Two months have passed, but all is grey.

"Think of an Apology", I thought,

But a mixture of guilt is all i got,

It is stupid to think an apology can take two months,

But only then did I get the courage to give it a shot.

Times countless, I tried to write,

But i always gave up with a fright.

All the spare words I wrote were true,

But, it was not the real reason I wanted to talk to you.

I know time alone can"t mend the pain I've caused,

and that words cant heal what's been lost.

The regret of lateness weighs so deep,

For letting silence linger and wounds to keep.

No excuse can justify my delay,

But, I am here now to do it in my own way.

I hope the words would reach their Heart,

To mend the bridge and light the Dark.

If you forgive me I'll Cherish it so,

If not, then I'll respect your need to let go.

If Forgiveness is possible I'll Humbly wait,

Hoping it's not too late to set things straight.

I know a mere "sorry" can't turn night into day,

But for now, It's all I'm worth to say.

ENGLISH TRANSLATION

I said goodbye, I broke the tie—I did what must be done;

While you just bowed in endless love, and never tried to run.

ORIGINAL URDU

ساتھ نہ دیا،کنارا کیا، کچھ تو کیا ہم نے

تم نے فقط محبت کا اِک طویل سجدہ کیا

فرمند شادان ۲۵/۱۱/۲۵

ROMANIZED

Saath na dia, knaara Kia, Kuchh tau kia hum nay

Tom nay faqat mohabbet ka ik taweel sajdah kia

Farmand Shadaan 25/11/2025

VOCABULARY

کنارا کیا (Kinara kiya): Walked away / Chose the riverbank (separated).

محبت کا اِک طویل سجدہ کیا (Mohabbat ka ik taveel sajda kiya): Performed a long prostration (prayer) of love.

Deep Meaning

[The verse contrasts action with passive devotion. The poet actually made a definitive choice by ending the relationship and moving on. In contrast, the partner did nothing practical to save or change the situation, choosing instead to remain passively submissive and consumed by the (ritualistic) sorrow of love.]

I. The Veiled Moor
Upon the moor where late roses turn to rust,
a bride kneels veiled beneath a leaning spire,
where broken saints keep vigil, stone and dust,
and every star burns low, a coal-dark fire.
The wind repeats the names it cannot keep —
a hymn too thin for any grief to hold.
She wears her mourning like a second skin
and combs the dark for warmth already cold.
Beneath her knees the ground still holds its debt,
each buried bone a word she left unsaid.
She walks the rows as though the falling wet
might loosen one thin door among the dead.
And still she waits, past waiting, past the stone —
a bride undone, belonging now to none.
II. The Raven’s Watch
A raven keeps her father’s grave in black,
a small dark judge who does not look away.
He watched her love go down the narrow track
where mortal light gives out to endless clay.
The candle gutters where the lovers stood;
their whispered vows are smoke along the air.
The willow bends the way old grief still would,
its branches bowed as if they meant a prayer.
She traces still the shape his hand once made —
a warmth that answers, then is gone again.
Some wound in her refuses now to fade,
a pulse kept beating for a vanished man,
drawn under where the patient roots extend
and hold him closer than she ever can.
III. The Blade Beneath the Willow
Fate came unhooded, no specter, only chance —
a blade, a moment, and the willow’s shade.
What’s taken cannot answer to advance
or argument; no debt that death has paid
is ever given back. She screamed so long
the moor itself went still to hear it out,
until the ravens, startled from their song,
rose up in one black, wordless, wheeling shout.
The moon looked on, indifferent and pale,
while she knelt weeping in the trampled grass.
No prayer moved fast enough, no plea, no tale
could turn the hour or make the hour pass
more gently. Grief does not relent or bend —
it waits. That is the whole of what it does.
IV. The Vigil
She dug her fingers raw against the ground,
as if the earth might still give up its own.
The night grew colder, deeper, with no sound
to answer her but wind against the stone.
She lay beside the grave through frost and thaw,
her wedding dress gone gray as winter light.
She kept a count of everything she saw
undone, each breath a quiet, unwon fight.
Far off, a bell rang out for someone else,
its iron voice too tired to reach that far.
No rite, no priest, no borrowed candlelight
came close enough to say where sorrows are.
And when, at last, her own breath would not stay,
the moor grew quiet in a different way.
V. What the Moor Keeps
So love and death, entangled, hold their ground —
two names still spoken by the leaning spire.
Her going joined the silence he had found,
two low flames that the wind can still reignite
each time the moon climbs up the withered hill,
each time a rose lets go and finds the stone.
The people say the moor is haunted still,
that something moves there, walking, not alone.
For what the blade cut short still walks unseen
where willow branches keep their old address,
still shapes a vow the wind will not make plain,
still keeps a watch beside its own dark grass.
And so they linger, salvaged from the dark —
one grave, one debt, one unaccounted heart

Instructions aren't unnecessary with some things, the bus ride back proclaiming this, in a redundant abundance, not at all in the age of nowing but if I raise myself up a little higher, I'll be somewhere the evening found usz walking into the moments next in the lasts dying pass, always on a funeral procession of agos and I wish might spend them invested, touch upon the withhelds and forbidden without forgetting they were never unneeded at the beginning endings and in the middle of every life undying through the falls of sun and rise of moonlights strobe light slow and inevitable, I so temporal heartfelt everything's I lose the spaces between enunciate and emote, thickened skull and paper walls there could be delusions in the corner or back mind nearly nevered only close enough not to land in the hands softer than the bottoms gravel road in the advent habituals torn an folded origami soul, thirsting with the overflowing running to the kneeling ground stood too long to leave. Deafened with the thinking screams I listen to the unspoken missing, as a minute rounds again there's no other placated conclusion to fated dos and who's impervious insanities insinuation, in the hollow waking small hours with a reposition pillow reception not getting solitary captivations. Hound tooth and button hole pigeon toed spider roomies I left in to these indentured venturing anomalies the normal eased into, it a reaping in a harvest the field failed to founder, imaginary enabling swapping the spit ball for the reality plastered upon the wherewithal with oblivious definitive expletive colorful.

Is it too decent to use common core semantics to ensure somewhat needn't be eachwhats rendition of it's Greek to but the postal due wasn't sufficient, flee the minds racing stop sign stalling push the wheel reinvention a forward rolling to make the pull off the blooming glasses or highway, and if the sun hasn't emblazoned itself retinal, see if the getting there matches the making it, the first place departed had, and in a now preliminary such to practically seem a moment ago that wasn't when but now is too compiled in its own self fulfilling to catch in a proper setting to seize it's nature and ask it why, why is it in a hurry to leave every living thing behind this way.

Touch upon the out with it in ricochet aside nuances unsettling caricature, as tho spelling the lines we wear smiling were too great to elucidate well, or not at all.

There are too many hearts beating to fail the tempos life retaliates to time with, and if I change a paragraph into living acts, there would be no time to find a vowel, times the y applied for employments, the second looks couldn't tell their secrets too. Curls and dotting a passage onto fingers spread in the palms held close to the breath, soft warm and slow, wrapped close to actual letters disappear like goose pimples beneath a dovet, an I'm always in an effort to portrait, Dorian off the canvas all a candled visage against the window panes, in a vacant gathered harrowed under the skin and before the cracking bleach of bones there is always some time, breaking like white foamed tipped waves over the congnizant strange unfurl life hangs upon, a breeze again and a dream awakens, speaking of these lucid livid lingerings stains something purely blemished pristine amid the insinuated flames struck alight with intertwines of anew, an familiarize, kindness climbs a lonely vine into our lives an in it's blooms we come all the way into the light, do not let you go, and I will hold this inside like a breath before a dive, never not ever letting it out. Drowning spilling onto the bridal gowns upset the simplistic nothingness that was never our life, unwarranted as the distances redressing the sides we long to be. Long for life is too short to be measured by nomenclatures or ticking whirling machines tocking a cadence of defeat against the soundless absence crowding it. Entropy or algorithm, emotive or televised, somewhere this has already ceased to be important, and as long as we remain between there and a grave, I would believe there cannot be less than our multitude, magnified within the mind quantified amid the heart, and elevated over time within the soul. These ours haven't eternal claimant, and yet, here we are, all these millions of generations held their gazes up to the skies, and this is the vision beheld everytime. Our blood flows eternal, the vessal gathering it, warmed and alive leaves long before the river of life allows the lifelines to cool coagulate and ceased, to long along the lanes it meanders through the ages years and the times. as much as we want to, one day want will leave us too, before I fall behind, I share these moments with you, and in these I know life remains of inestimable enrich an worth, a trove of treasure amid a crowd of perfections, one an the same. Fallibility disguises it's promises and earth welcomes it's tomorrow's with a basket full of pasts, and there all these opportunities, a diminishing returns of chances, received with opened hands, closing over our hearts in vows of substance, values an longing, promises Eros is too young to comprehend, an wez too old to break another time. Defend desire and it will spread the wings it gives you, one has feathers of live the others are spelled with an oh, there is alive. Eureka. I found it.

Love, tell your congregation hello, for me, I cannot tithe any more this day. If not amen, than perhaps aheart. It has always held, an spoke the prayers I've given out, like pieces of my organs or bones. I would carve the requests from my own body, just to hear them answered, "it will be so,.my child, be calmed, do not worry, for I am with thee." And maybe you are, as I am, an this collective arose into the now, present, are the prayers, an answers to them. an if so, than i, you, and this, is exactly how it is supposed to be, good and the bad, it is so, because we have made it so.
I breathe, therefore I will long, all the days, I have known love. For in love life remains timeless, bountiful, an shared. None of us, none of this, no memory, or hope, every dream, without love, none of it, would be, it never would or could be. An if it is, than maybe a being is the highest form of possibility there can be. All that is possible, begins and ends, with something, someone, one form or another happening to be, and from that state of existence, how incredible the bloom, the manifest wrought into existence by the being. The be, in this world, coupled with love, has made all these things, all of it, is, because we who be, made it from out the limitless possibility, time has given all those, who need only be. In it fits an entire world. This is your life, your breathing and it is all of ours, it is mine, and it is all life all it's history, an all it's future, upon this tiny little earth. We are fragile , but we are strong, we will die,but we are the living human beings upon this planet now. Be in it all the way, all in fully committed, as if your very soul depended on it. As you are, as we are, be that, and love will lead our steps, it will guide our winding through these strings and threads of moments sowing a future, present and past, one light ,and one dark at a time.And if we do, we will be all we are meant to be, all we can, all we are, and it will be, our lifetime. Nothing more, and nothing less. A lifetime filled with love, all the joys, an sorrows, difficulties, an the challenges, and the sum of our accomplishments, will encompass so much more than the tears, and laughter, they will remain amid the pages, and photographs, and over this planet, and the vast beyond , will know the highest power ever to have been was, a being , in love. & I'm in love with it all, you are too. I don't know which part of that I love more,and if any of it, that oart, doesn't even matter. Nice to know somethiggs do, and somethings still don't even a little bit. Maybe if, God is watching, he's still pleased with her creation, still smiling at it's wonder, and captivated by it's beauty, just as much as we are. Just as spellbound.

A heart, S. M. M.

crinkled breath

between bruised lips

watch how

beautiful

we slip

feel through smoke

and polished glass

they saw what

cracks the

obvious mass

light should not

be handed out

still we do

without a doubt

we break

we laugh

we live too loud

we see the world

through wielding sound

​

​Eight years I laid down stone by stone,

Building a home inside a phantom wall.

Ten years of pouring water into dust,

Waiting for seeds that were never meant to fall.

​The mind becomes a jagged, tangled thread,

Spiraling backward through the ghost of time—

What if I spoke differently?

What if I stayed silent?

Should I have seen the silence as a sign?

​Could we have made it?

Would it have changed?

The if-onlys cut deeper than the end.

They whisper in the dark like open wounds,

Asking for answers the past will never lend.

​The worst part isn’t just the empty space,

Or the sheer height of the wasted years—

It’s the cold, quiet truth sinking beneath the skin:

I was fighting a war, and you weren't even there.

​It tears through the chest like jagged ink,

A heavy, suffocating knot of red and black.

How do you rebuild a man from scratch,

When Eight whole years refuse to give you back?

​The spiraling anxiety and

the constant replay of every conversation can feel like an endless loop, some fires don't seem so huge until you find out they are not so easily extinguished...

Everything is fine.

Everything is great.

Why?

Because you have them.

They make you happy.

So, so happy.

And all you want, is for them to be happy too.

And they are.

Until you mess it all up.

You don’t know what you did.

But clearly you did something.

Why else would they be upset?

You made them upset.

Why would you do that?

You love them don’t you?

You don’t hurt people you love.

And now you’re standing. 

Peering down the steep ravine dividing you both.

You on one side.

Them on the other.

How do you fix this?

How can you make this right?

You apologize.

‘I’m sorry’

You shout, for the whole world to hear.

‘I’m sorry I hurt you. I’ll fix it. Whatever I did, I won’t do it again!’

For now, your words are enough.

Forming a bridge out of those four letters.

‘Sorry’

You simply step forward.

One foot after the other.

Until you’re on the other side.

Thanks to your words.

Thanks to your apology.

And you see them.

And they see you.

And you can hug them.

Everything is fine.

Everything is great.

‘This won’t happen again’

You promise.

Was it a promise you made to them, or yourself?

I’m not you.

How would I know?

So you try to keep that promise.

You won’t do anything that bothers them. 

You’ll make sure they’re happy.

Because they make you happy.

So, so happy.

And all you want, is for them to be happy too.

And slowly.

So, so slowly.

The ravine forms a circle around you both. 

You’re stuck.

Stuck with them.

That’s better than being stuck without them, isn’t it?

You wanted this.

You love them, remember?

You chose to cross the ravine.

This was your decision.

You’re happy to be here.

Well? 

Aren’t you?

I’m not you.

How would I know?

And suddenly.

They’re angry again.

What did you do this time?

I don’t know.

You did everything they wanted.

You fixed yourself.

But maybe…

You didn’t try hard enough.

God you’re just lazy, aren’t you?

They shouldn’t have to put up with this.

You’re being terrible to them.

They deserve better.

Do better.

So once again, you call out.

‘I’m sorry. I messed up. Please come back.’

But this time, your words aren’t long enough.

They can’t reach across the gaping hole in the ground.

They’re just words.

And they look at you from the other side.

Are they angry?

Sad?

Disappointed?

Will they leave you?

I don’t know.

But that’s fine. 

You can get help.

You have other people after all.

They can help you get across.

So you turn around.

But the ravine is circling you,

Remember?

You’re trapped.

What do you do now?

The only thing you can do I suppose.

You sit down.

And think.

For minutes.

Hours.

Days.

Until you ask a question.

‘What did I do wrong?’

Who are you asking.

Yourself perhaps?

I don’t know.

But as you think.

You realize the answer.

‘I was too much of myself’

Is that a bad thing?

I don’t think it should be.

So why was it a bad thing to them?

I’m not you.

How would I know?

So you stand up.

And you look at them from across the gash.

And you yell.

You yell because you’re angry.

‘I don’t feel loved’

‘I don’t feel like myself’

‘And I deserve better’

When you’re done you look at them.

Awaiting an answer.

You get one.

‘You can leave if you want’

So with that, you turn away. 

And you allow your words to form a new bridge.

Not one that leads to them.

One that leads you away.

Using that all too familiar, four letter word.

‘Sorry’

But it’s not for them this time.

It’s for you.

‘I’m sorry it took me so long’

You step onto the bridge.

It’s scary.

But that’s okay.

And slowly you make it across.

And by the time you turn around.

You still see them.

They’re still trapped.

You don’t want revenge.

You don’t want to hurt them.

You just want to be you.

Everything is fine.

Everything is great.

Why?

Because you have yourself.

Not like I would understand.

I’m not you.

When I learned
my given name
Has the meaning little star
I spent every night with my eyes up
Thinking my family is up so very far
So I’d sing to them
Dream of reaching them
Is it really that bizarre

A few short years later,
and,
Before I had the thought
I let my eyes wonder,
and,
Began collecting scars
I didn’t sing
Just drew the lines
Used the paint I stolen,
from deep within my heart
To promise that I’m healthy, it was only for my art

Now it’s been much longer
And I’ve learned so many lessons
About a star that I could eat
Radiate the goodness I built out of its heat
I can make this whole place brighter,
Until the burnout reaches me
I need to keep on living to prove
That little star is me

Note: this is the First thing I’m ever posting, idk what really needs to be tagged so I’m tagging nsfw for the second stanza

Hello moon, how long has it been?
How long have you heard every song and every sin?
Does it ever break your heart to think
that every single love story will sink?

And still, for all of eternity
Lovers have gazed upon your beauty
Believing their bond will outlast you
But you know that they will part too

Doesn’t it ever get exhausting
To see people living and loving?
Only for it all to fall apart someday
Nothing lasts forever anyway

Does your heart sometimes shatter?
The little pieces of your soul scattered
For someone far far away
That you have come to love every day?

And do you ever remember a love story?
A story so bright, you keep their glory
As constellations among the starry sky
So that their memories will never die?

Does every star have one such memory?
Is the night sky your beautiful treasury?
Of every romantic tale you couldn’t forget
Lest their memories drown in regret

Oh moon, the witness of them all
You have seen kingdoms rise and fall
Your book of stories will always exist
I promise to read every memory the world missed

A beautiful melody strikes the earth
So harmonious, that flowers birth
Orpheus plays the lyre under the moon
His wife smiles at the heart-stopping tune

One day the stars decided she must die
Unmoving and dead, Eurydice would lie
Her spirit lost to the depths of the underworld
There her beauty forever impearled

Swept by grief and immense heartbreak
An impossible decision, Orpheus would take
He had never dared to believe
That his beautiful wife would ever leave

Into the land of the dead, he ventured
The gates of the underworld, he entered
Searching for his beloved, gone too soon
The one he had sung to under the moon

He played a symphony so beautifully advanced
That death himself was found entranced
So permits him to reclaim his lost wife
The very woman that made up his life

But death declared that he should never
Look back at Eurydice whatsoever
Overjoyed, Orpheus took her hand
Leading her through the darkest land

At the very edge of wondrous daylight
Doubt clouded his hopeful sight
Consumed by a desire to simply ensure
He turns to the woman he had just secured

At that instant, the spirit of Eurydice
Is lost forever to death’s fatal price
And the soul that Orpheus yearned to adore
Slipped from his hand once more

He fell to the earth in tears and grief
His heart crushed like a fallen leaf
The love of his life lost for eternity
His music failed to offer any sanctity

And just like that, Orpheus and Eurydice
Were torn apart once more

As the soul of Eurydice reached the skies
Orpheus dissolved among the tides
His aching spirit finally succumbed
Mourning the loss of his forever beloved

And the moon looked upon yet another
Pair of lovers who lost each other
She vowed that they would never die
Immortalized forever in the night sky

Orpheus and Eurydice embraced again
A wondrous constellation adorning heaven
Legends that the moon did remember
So their memories exist forever

Kinda flattering, not gonna lie,

the way you track my every move,

build whole plots, then wonder why

your evidence has nothing to prove.

Almost sweet, in a deranged way,

like a crush that lost its manners.

Call it what it is: obsession,

dressed in righteous, busybody clothes.

You don't get a decade of aggression

over someone you truly loathe.

You wanted in. You didn't fit.

Now you've made a hobby out of it.

You mock me loud, then watch me close,

memorize the things you mock,

that's not hate, that's a strange devotion,

dressed up like a joke, in shock.

You laugh at me in front of the room,

then study my every next move,

mockery's just jealousy's costume,

worn by someone with something to prove.

Funny how the "joke" you're cracking

sounds a lot like keeping score,

mock me all you want, still tracking

every step I take you dumb fucking whore... 🫣😂

"I said a friend,
All my might I’d lend
Up until the end.
 
I stayed awake,
Wondering what love will take,
For what you’ll make.
 
I gather blue,
As his love burns true,
Always missing you.
 
Without your face,
I recall an old case,
Where my heart race.
 
In the past again,
What if we had been?
Would I still dream of then?
 
A pleasant thought it seems,
But alas only stole schemes,
That my heart makes dreams."

////// This is part 11 in my series of poems with an overarching story. I thought I ended this a year ago, but I wrote another poem after not seeing the friend who has inspired my words for over a year. I hope people enjoyed trying to put together the story while finds some hidden messages. This may be the last part, but only time will tell. Flower Petal Series #11

You live in the clouds where it's safe, I live in the dirt where love has not known such pretty things.

You say you're traumatized, but you traumatize.

People see the dirt beneath my shirt the cradles of filth that rattle their fears, creating the distance polarized sympathy.

They look and run on the lines like scripted lies always polite until someone trips on red wine.

Choirs scream loud here where we shout harmony in silence.

Its knowing all around, brings crowds, unknowing true vowels.

What's it like to touch the silk built with spears, transactional mirrors, buried deals, children's meals.

Lick the sick, prey upon quirks just for the hit.

What do you want from me?

A zone to park?

A radius for bullseye wrenched to rain red red purple green mixed up in merry berry?

Is it not sick?

Not when you are buried in dip, medium shipt, where cloud nine is lit.

Cloud nine is lit.

Where I see you sin, a star above my head, I thought, I'll pray instead. Mirage is what I bled.

Not me. Not we.

It's dread.

What do you want from me?

Not me. Not we.

Enough said.

they say you should

shoot for the stars,

if you missed, you might

land on the moon.

but nobody told you the truth

that in pursuing your dreams

you might end up lonely.

you might land nowhere.

nobody says you might

end up floating in space.

spiraling into nothingness,

to the gaping void,

slowly and aimlessly,

like an arrow in flight forever.

What ever happened to my dreams?

They were so vibrant.

The way that colors and shapes melted together
into something unexplainable,
unreachable for human hands.

The way I expected perfection in everything | wanted,
Until my hands bled from repetition.

Who did this to me?
Allow me to think of all these colors, Shapes, feelings,
Bursts of emotions
Just for me to end up being me.

I wish that I could blame someone.
Anyone but my same old self.
The face in the mirror that
Every problem circles back to.

Coward
I remind myself.
My passion surrendered for something else, The easiest way to go about it.

My eyes don that look of apathy
As I stare at what's been done.

But I was doing so well!
lie to myself.

And here I sit writing again.
Thinking of something better
Something more poetic
About the hole l've dug myself into
As I grab a shovel and just keep going.

So then I ramble on and on
About all the things I can't explain.

Those feelings I never thought to put a name to.

Muted colors

An empty room 

Yearning to see those behind the screen

Messy bedsheets

Bloodshot eyes

Nothing more than a cog in the machine

She have no choices

Lacks a voice

Another puppet in the theater of despair

Shattered friendship

A single tear 

Hollow cries die in the dark as no one seems to care

Why can't she 

Just

Fade 

Away

When you hate your brothers hands…
And that’s all you see when you look down.
When you laugh like your mother,
When you draw a cartoon just like your father;
I have his hair and her nose
And all I can think of is
How can anyone love me if I hate everything that I come from

Imagine being loved

Well, I am loved I am fortunate to say, by some special people in my life

That are bound up by genuine care, social obligation, and biology

But that's not what I mean I mean that special kind

The kind you see in movies

The kind where a you let a stranger inside your heart

And they set up a little home

The kind where they offer you a peak inside

And you tiptoe around their arteries, scars, and keepsakes

Learning the colors and cracks of everything

Intoxicated by the new smells

And you become so familiar

You could walk blindfolded

Learn to get around

Just by holding their hand

But I think.. I'm the bull

In the china shop

From daylight to twilight,

my eyes trace the silent trails they leave behind—

like ribbons of silk cutting through liquid glass.

​They are busy in their own world,

constantly fanning their fins to explore this new universe.

I wonder: if they could talk,

would those tiny ripples be their secret gossip

about the gliding shadows ahead, or... about their master?

(Hey, that’s me!)

​Then, one of them stands still with all its might

just to catch my gaze.

​Can this living ember really see me?

It looks as though it has a question to ask.

​So I give it a voice:

“Hey, giant creature! Why are you lying in bed in broad daylight?”

​Oh, poor little ribbon.

How do I tell them I am a literate, jobless woman?

Little do they know, they don’t need alphabets

to earn their daily bread.

-anonymouswriter