Longing and Leaving
There are hours of longing,
trapped in between you and me
and when rummaged,
these spaces become our silent battlegrounds
where you swallow your pride and I swallow mine and we become our own prisoner of war.
As these hours rumble into minutes,
I run the shores of your rolling sea,
to see the skies pouring the rains,
to see the violence you created in your storms,
to see your eyes still and settled despite it all.
There, I shout in question marks,
with echoes of my voice all around,
my words drunk
and blending in my deep waters,
wasted, the word was reverberating in and out now.
Then, the time pass into seconds,
you become a journey
and I crawl on to you,
I pick up the yellow flowers off your grounds,
they tell me beauty isn’t where it is left to perish and wither about,
these gardens smelled like leaving now. You weren’t the end of my journey, my destination, I
realize, a home is not a wrecked place to reside.