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Last Month

This feeling of being buried; under the sofa, the bed, the cold tiles

I crave to experience being unseen, but I already am

locked out of the cloud of creativity, the chained hands 

yearn to play the balance of music, but the urge to live

the life I had envisioned such year, succumbed by the heat

is just a mere excuse to sulk at the fate, that I was gifted

all limbs and a mind capable to innovate, yet I rather

scroll the void, chasing the attention of the unknown,

hoping for it to make me feel like home, one that shines 

already in the rustling leaves of the pine trees; but is one

injecting me with enough shame to express it poetically.

This is a sign that I need to be overwhelmed with grief,

let the silence of solitude help me satiate the breeze that

brings within it the hope of the unbridled and unseen

charm exhibited by another matrix version of navreen

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