Bedtime tale we're
excited for, soon
to fall asleep.

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Forgotten song, heard
last week whose
lyrics still haunt.

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Friday's the 'wannabe
song' poem that
doesn't give up.

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They don't long.
Elongated freedom
says 'moving on'.

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Why should I write?
So we decided we'll
have a question at the
beginning and at the end,
but what if it was a poem
made of questions strung together?
Well, sense would jostle for space
in the wonder that process
and statements like 'that is
how it is' seem to stay as
in our lives. Writers
are navigators of endless
questions, why create?
Why take that route if
you've not lived through that,
just heard of or seen?
Why put yourself in others shoes
when your shoes are slipping off
on the world's ground?
Well that's the force.
What's your reason to write?

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I wish I'm left just breathing but not in senses, in my comfort zone sooner than you think.

-

My good night to myself is an
early alarm
not a late lullaby.

-

Tried sleeping during the day,
couldn't (didn't get a chance to),
planning to make up for that.

-

In all probability, I was waiting for a catch,
in life's match, with luck we often don't find a match,
but when fate plays its game, every desire that does hatch
seems like my destiny and heart's whispers never latch,
of living, whenever I fill another page in a new batch,
it seems of all the possibilities I could benefit from, the surface I've just scratched.

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I know it's hard.
But I won't give up.
And I'd say around: the child in me is stubborn for good.

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