Convicted.

We always try to fly away. To spread 'wings', an ideal that every man and women possess. We dream of a future where there are no more limits. But there are many of them indeed and sadly, their origin is usually our own hearts. Comfort, we revel in them. Being caressed by soft emotions and security. The look on his eyes. The monthly wages. The feeling of our skin in bed, covered and sheltered by soft linens and the freedom of time. Where we let go, but not completely as we sleep by imagining tomorrow and wake by regretting yesterday.

There I was, hoping and wandering foolishly in an illusion of a world that had more comfort. More love and realising the reality was a luxurious torture. I breathe to sleep at night and I sleep to breathe for a desired tomorrow. That so far had no progress. Because I am still here, under these walls and bricks. Tucked between the sheets and anxieties.

As time sing to me a lullaby, to drift me further into mortality. Until I wake at 9.30 PM, aged 60 and regretting my life by the foot of the bed. All alone with sad, abandoned dreams.

Glass heart.

She was a child of darkness. And though there was light in her eyes, it diminished as time passes by. She loved you, with her heart overflowing with emotions. Lips laced with promises. One neither could have kept, as her heart fractured open. You were the light of her monotonal life, painting colors like a painter. But soon you faded, like soft crayons and flaky watercolors. You were a shade darker every day. And so she smiled, but tears had already stained her skin. And despite her effort to reach out, to touch you once again... There was a huge crack in her soul that she could never jump over. She was broken and you were the lines of fractures in her glass heart.

Cold, sharp and exhausted heart. Hanging on foolishly for a love that was not meant to be.

POET

being in love doesn't mean holding them close.

sometimes its letting go.

whereas most of the time it is enduring heartaches.

and silently casting a smile to hide the cracks.

i am smiling.

there are happiness, laced perfectly thin

between each deceived giggles

because life is a privilege

living is  inevitable

still dying is a choice

because deaths comes in many ways

it could be the way you try hard 

to keep tears within your eyelids

and failed

or it could even be 

walking past a picture you cherished 

that rusted in meaning

still you try on bringing back the nothings

when it is too late

worst is when there is 

nothing

even from the start all you had was 

a hopeless prayer.

you hold on even when your flesh starts to rot

but you can't let go

because then death would invite you with a warm embrace

one too hard to resist.

darkness is death but behind each shadows

there are meaning.

there are stories.