The burden upon you
With the weight of your parents expectations
Becomes that of finite lite
in your flight
For I remember a fortnight
Where upon the bed you turned many a times away and inward
Till turning turned upon itself
And in the sheets, a thing that gave me retreat.
A blackhole covered in white linen
So strong that even your voice could not escape.
Under the sun
I know now never to stay for a fight
Because in your search for one
I was undone
The razor in hand that runs through your life
Divides the world such that
There is no picture to hang on the wall
To stand back from and say
"Ah there it is, I'm sure, it is all"
But in the mountains upon
The ridge of our relations
A view of all directions
But a trail didn't not emerge
The wind carries no weight yet knows its path
And
Absence becomes the heaviest thing of all
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