My days are usually linear,
The routine kicks in as the Sun takes the first yawn,
My legs wobble first,
For they know they have to carry this body of mine,
A body of dreams and desires,
Tanned under the voracious Sun,
Dehydrated and transpiring each day,
I slowly collect pieces of myself,
Dab them with the little integrity I have left,
Left over from the day my soul died,
And the mind took over my decisions,
I bathe myself not so frequent,
The stench never goes away,
My hands still dirty,
Aqua, teal, the color of the sky,
Days pass in utter monotony,
And I depart for home,
Where the air seems a little distilled,
The wooden doors feel familiar,
Marks on the wall my very own,
I am greeted by a warm presence,
Sitting by the garden green,
Pruning the Dahlia with their wrinkled hands,
Cooking something for the heart,
I sometimes sit by them,
Not speaking,
For they know I want to be strong,
The storms have already ravished the inner beings,
A bed made of soft lullabies,
Their memories etched in my sub conscious,
The first day of school, the last day of my college,
I have heard their stories numerous times,
And could hear them a million more,
The days like these,
When the winds are a little kind,
And I can leave my worries packed in my little cardboard box,
The one my parents have kept intact,
It soothes me,
The twinkling rain that sometimes drench me,
Trekking on to the mountains of my past self,
The broken, bruised, failed, deprived,
That heals my wounds,
And stitches them happy,
I sometimes call their names in my sleep,
As their voice guides me in the strangest of times,
The times when I dare to take a leap,
Into the abyss,
The dark seems the day,
Silences eat me like termites brown,
I try to hold onto them,
The sweet riverine flow,
The estuary that sublimes into the ocean,
And breeds villages of life,
Once again,
Every time,
For I am a piece of them,
My identity of their being……………