28. Zephyr

I move back my hair as the zephyr cross my face,

sat on a bank of river, on an unclad garden fence, 

while those hands still tremble,
seeing the sun sink down,
getting drowned,
spilling the tides of red color into the horizon,
and with one stir, the sight of whole sky was dim to its bottom,
just like you are little too comfortably numb in your own bubble.

Whispering in the winds that rush over this naked river, under a naked sky in a naked space,

whispering the echoes of my existence,

the fainted sky was the bliss that this city offered,

to a bundle of unsettled atoms, moving through that zephyr,

while my hands still tremble,

echoeing the whispers of my existence.

Roads, perfectly laid down with black bitumen,
perfect for a city making a charcoal life.
unimaginable things emanate light rays,
only to get absorbed in a lifeless bunched fists.
Perseverant look these city lights reflects,
every single man playing one of the seven roles,
and their angle of existence to an uncanny extent.

They said I wasn't besuited enough, and that I can never be,
but it feels like I do have an existence for something, something which I don't know myself yet,
perhaps thinking so deeply about superficial incomprehensible things
do I not deserve to be here, in this world so big for a small girl.

This world is barely alive yet highly functional,
flickering in the night lights of these sidelined creators,
the once in an excruciating pain of untangled dreams,
capable of leaving insignificance of damage,
it is truly a torn remnant of a painful picture.
I fade away, unchained.