I am myself
With a twist
A slight change of plans
A coding gone wrong.
Suddenly stronger



Looking for Permanence

We are dead, but
We still write.
Our collective pulse has flatlined
For the most part, but
Every few weeks
There is a sign of life
Relentless life
Still bursting between us
Still hopeful

Let us declare a death
A proper death
Certificates and all.


So What am I Today?

I always feared permanence.
So why, now, the hurt?

I’ll keep writing with my pencil
In notebooks without lines. Facing erasure.
How temporary.
They could burn,
or get lost,
or get stolen
Like their lacking lines
Which were stolen off the page.

I no longer know where, exactly
I am expected to write.
Or how,
Given that it will all change tomorrow.
I can only hope that my change will be directed
Towards my self,
That one I’m supposed to be,