Sunday, July 24, 2011

When you were on the other continent

Written long ago, unfreezing now. 

It was freezing cold,
I closed my window.
Frost formed,
And I wrote your name

On a drowsy morning
Steam sat on the glass door of the bathroom
Dulled by the distances and the paucity of conversation
The steam stanced like a stained glass
And I wrote your name

I nibbled on food
Mindlessly munching
I wrote your name on my plate
And fed my soul

Saturday, July 23, 2011

Time moulds

Who we are is defined every moment by what happens to us, around us.
And who chisels that?

Part you, part fate, part everything in between the two.