Soul ace.
Ask no one.
There's a bliss in
one. Not the pedestal
where one in digits
appears ready to
steal the show
but being one
with yourself which
makes you lose
so many things.
Sole ace.

When you play chess with
yourself, remind someone
of this solace.
Perhaps a pawn.

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loss

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an embrace

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Tones of being

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It starts with us

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The broken pieces..
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There was a photo frame
I hung it on the wall
With all my pieces together
Which were scattered once
And the mirror facing the frame
Reflected my gathered self
Which I had once shattered
Around me,throwing them hopelessly
Sometimes towards the crimson twilight sky
Into the gurgling streams,honking of vehicles
Finding myself in the song
Of the cuckoo on the distant hill.
You see, I'd started loving leftovers-
Leftover sorrow,love,longing, solitude..
Yes,they were leftovers,
they had been left by those who had savoured them
Found bitter musings,sweet somethings
And thrown the leftover away.
Even sugary gaze, joyous blaze after a point
Create a haze,making us believe
We have but reached a saturation point.
But I forgot all this when I saw my forgetful self
Shading you,sorry,exposing you
To the vulnerability of finding yourself
Broken,in pieces..
Ah,then I heard the song of insomniac thrushes one day
And then,I shattered myself
The photo frame of Icarus' courage
Narcissus's rage within me shattered
The frame,and battered your
Ever loving self as well..
How I wish the mirror would
Still reflect some leftover
Affection,sadness..

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The fear of death

?

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