Old her crammed into her vanities

slipping her hands into time's pockets.

This pocket having as big events as chasing eclipses on a starry sky, or vice versa.

Verse in, vice out.

The pat on the shoulder from the child they used to be, a peek-a-boo kind of sign,

with a grin on those small, freckled faces

reliving it once again in wrinkled memories

suffering from not finding the fair share

between the past and the future.

Be once again in this together.

The otherness is not a thing they climb the ladder for

is not a thing that happens to many

It is one almost no one strives for when there is as much as the future can hold

Insane to remain restless when you need to rest from all the burdens, flat out - there is a voice that whispers.

There is a little space unfilled, or rather filled with nothing

Just when you decide to jot the square into a diacritical mark called roundness of a shape unknown

Flattened the Earth once again into your hands, also called 'Mmasticated grass as the path flattens out'

Called as in 'named after his father's treacherous behaviour'

No saint is there to praise his doings.

Spend as little as you can on this

Sleep wrapped into your dreams

That prevent you from taking action

when you wake up.

Photo: freepik

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