• tamanna3 6w

    ᴍɪɴᴇ


    most people I called mine
    are now out of reach,
    and the least I can do
    is let them be.
    I had learned the lesson
    of letting go too early
    but never could practice
    the same art.
    they say it takes more of you
    to hold onto the past
    than to let it go
    but what do you do,
    when it's the same baggage
    that keeps you from drowning?
    when I say people,
    I think of sunflowers
    and ships in the sea,
    but the world is panting
    with drought in its veins
    and a Bermuda triangle
    collapsing
    on its only third side.
    doesn't it remind you of people
    and their many pretty faces,
    but expectations hurt
    and you can't grow immune to that.
    when I think of people,
    I hear their songs of love
    and sighs of farewell,
    but the world is bleeding
    in words of poets
    and wars of times,
    so much that double plurals
    in my poems can't
    suffice to say
    how much it hurts.
    most people have built
    homes midway,
    for a destination sounds too complete
    and the least they can do is
    choose an end they can really see.
    most people i called mine
    are so out of reach,
    maybe it's the distance
    or the parameter of clocks
    but the more I look away,
    the further a horizon slips away
    so all I can do
    is jot down these thoughts
    and make a poem of them,
    'cuz even if I'm not a poet
    these words can still
    sympathize for me,
    even if it's for their own sake.

    ☾︎tamanna3

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