I would paint if I were a painter
Maybe, someday, you could teach me.
In the meantime, words are my only refuge
Punctuations – my brushstrokes
The alphabets – my palette
They say a picture speaks a thousand words, but I have to learn to listen first.
Here I am spreading vague ink on paper, there you are making sense of colors and strokes
Shakespeare’s reality, Picasso’s logic, Wilde’s imagination;
Put them all together and you’ll know why I suffer from this mild hallucination.
This profound absurdity, one day we’ll both understand only to realise, we can’t.
Yet I hope in despair, in isolation
For us to stand under the same constellation.
I hope for wishes, seldom come true
I exaggerate, for time is only a word
Thrown around loosely by the keepers of it
Don’t deny me, its not everyday I ask.
Before chronology lets its secret out
Before they serve you your favorite ice cream,
Or maybe after.