I want something.
I don't know what.
I want to hold on,
I want to belong.
Time might have unwound,
Yet memories rebound.
The old feeling,
The dread, the need.
Unforgotten emotions
Retrenched, but now revived.
Why? What? How?
Who? When? Where?
Searching again.
Within, without.
People, objects.
Indefinite, proportional.
Images. Joy, happiness.
Windows, narrow and unhinged.
I still have a pair of eyes,
Yet now they have grown wise?
What is vain, anyway?
Everything is, in a way.
Purpose. Defeats itself.
If only, I let go- let go.
Dreams. I rise.
Reality. I squander.
Can I not lead myself,
Do I not believe enough?
Why then are there walls?
Why then I have to stroll?
I notice. I try to know.
Maybe I am too broad minded.
Can life be learnt in charts?
Or drawn as lines in palms?
Certainty, the comfort,
The box and the familiarity.
I do not find it right,
To me that is not life.
Strings, strands, stubborn.
I just want to be me.
Why should I achieve?
What should I do anyway?
Buildings and fools within them,
I want the vistas and the aliens.
Let the flower grow among the dirt,
It will, as long as there is water.
The sunlight, the soil, will be there,
Words can be stolen, but not the passion.
The light shines the brightest
