Distracted
I entered my room,
and forgot why I was there.
I started telling a story,
and forgot how it began.
Lately, I’ve been distracted.
Blank and silent.
Like after an explosion,
where the realization of lifelessness hasn’t dawned yet.
Hung between the moment,
where the dust bubble that rose,
hasn’t landed back on the ground yet.
I am waiting for time to whisper the charms of its irony,
and sparkle springs in the air.
‘Cuz I’ve tasted hope,
And seen life rebuild from the rubbles of dynamite,
once expelled, returned back with garlands.
Maybe I have stopped being afraid of these landmines
and started making them a habit;
To wipe off everything that’s wrong,
and clean the slate after every heartbreak and fault,
only to spray it back with a storm of angled strokes.
For sure there is magic,
in letting your hair loose in the wind,
and tasting your own music compiled with broken strings,
but how can I stop seeking:
keeping every edge in my book intact,
bedecked with metered cursive
held together with yielding ties of a scaffolding of memories,
leaving breadcrumbs to find my way back,
sweeping the cobwebs of my memories
and looking back again and again
at the wood shavings of the perfect picture frame
that held our adorable ‘casual pose’(in my imagination).
But now only houses
the dents of my dream for us,
that now only manifest
in my distractions…
Lately, I’ve been distracted…
