a lease on existence

a lease on existence

Permanence

A phenomenon
Owed to none.

A portion of space and time
Is leased to us.

At times, we carve out a place
Of our own accord,
Lay claim to it,
Build around it,
Anchor ourselves.

Permanence
Is an illusion,
Borrowed to us,
While we lay down roots,
Till the sands of time run dry.

Shifting Colours

We possess many faces,
shifting between each

as we mirror the world outside.

Sometimes, the shift
is triggered by fluctuations

occurring in the inner world.

We become chameleons,
shifting colours
according to the environments
we find ourselves in.

what the page knows

The pen becomes more than a writing instrument. It morphs into a vessel that transcribes thoughts, channels them onto its companion—the page—as if sharing secrets. But the page possesses a mind that lets loose all secrets kept within, to whoever gazes.

footprints through time

We live,
Accrue moments—
Some fleeting,
Some become fossils,
Awaiting discovery,
While others leave
Lasting impressions,
Like footprints
Preserved through time.

a museum of unsaid things

Silence became my default setting
For my input and voice.
Never received an outlet,
Never met recognition
Or value in its contribution.

So the voice retreated,
Found home in a mind
Where the corpses of past selves
Remain buried,
Remaining a sprawling graveyard.

Preprogrammed responses rise,
Shifting the weight and responsibility
Of input onto others.
If my contribution
Is never inserted,
The backlash from dismissal
Shall lose its power to sting.

So silence gained a companion,
A relationship which grows,
Forming self into a shell
Which mistrusts what it knows.

The knowledge it possesses
Becomes archived,
Never to reach the ears of others,
All while my mind
Replays optimized responses
For conversations long held,
Ones I never contributed to
In earnest.

a graveyard's existence

A graveyard exists,
where tombs lay
unmarked.

What lays there,
lost to the recesses
of time?

Who lays there,
if I recall,
are pieces of self
buried on shallow grounds.

A graveyard exists,
collecting bodies
whose forms
never came to fruition.

Beware the greed of men

Beware the greed of man

Which lies dormant

Festering slowly

Until it bubbles and boils

Spilling over

Tainting all it touches

Bringing ruin

To all in its wake

Innocent and will participants alike.

Beware the greed of man

Finished products

Attracting those

Who loudly refuse

To acknowledge

sweat and tears poured

Clinging to what is owed to them

What should belong to them

What can be easy to take.

Beware the greed of man

For power, money, status

Become magnets

And no soul left in ruin

Shall become a deterrent

From their chase

From their prey

Which they deem insignificant

In their pursuits.

A silent vigil

On bended knee,
Hands clasped together,
Nestled close to the chest,
Heart's rhythm felt,
Head bowed,
Eyes shut.

The silence,
Weighing a ton.

The heart speaks
To its Creator.
Words circulate
As the mind collects
Conversations
Meant for God's ear.

A silent vigil commencing
As the pounding of the chest
Deepens.

Without a peep,
Nor sound escaping,
A conversation ends
With Amen.

beneath the scars

We bear scars
From wounds
Inflicted,
But which remain
Unseen,
Yet shaping
Every step,
Every interaction.

We bear scars
That lay dormant,
Becoming infections,
Whose healing
Becomes a herculean task.

We bear scars.
We walk
With gaping wounds
Which the world never sees.