echo

you are a part of me now.

and no one is to blame,

but chance alone.

its not a cause

for absurd alarm

its not obsession

nor a sense of possession

not at all.

now

you exist

like a sacred song

whose notes I will never forget

nor unlearn,

even if I tried

and when I close my eyes

fractals that I may sometimes see

will resemble how your smile might look,

outside my head

into my heart

its how my silence

could be a discreet shout,

calling out to you;

subtle yet strong,

in ways

that I can only try to do

and this time

in my muted reality,

It will be me

playing the part

of that melancholic echo-

and this will be you:

the very spaces in-between

every time that I repeat.

last rant before you expire

Fate delivered my muse in an accidental plane
and although it failed to apologize for taking too long
how can you not forgive a beautiful song
however unusual its package may be

and instantly
I knew that he is the most beautiful sound I'll ever hear
So I chained him to my ear, without him knowing

and his poetry reminded me that I have no use for TV
cause I've no time to spare
from reading
and writing
and thinking of him
in-between the intervals
of each word I encounter

and in secret,
the small flame of my matchstick
silently morphs into a roaring forest fire
fed by the past, bursting with things I've left unsaid,
fed by his cynical words in my head

and without a word,
he makes me want to write
so I write.

and when I get stuck, the image of his voice
guides me through every stumbling pause
and safely
I arrive each and every time
pulled by the illusion of his presence-
comma after comma,
cadence after cadence.