Possibility

Possibility

waking up we try to turn keys (painted with generous coats of rust, pinned down by bundles of ignorance, forgotten by people looking only at mirrors)   The keys shall uncuff a dawn dipped zephyr (albeit, through the peephole of

Happiness is

Happiness is

a tiny hand with rose petal skin cuddling the nape of my neck at the break of dawn hearing the words I long to hear for the first time a moment to be amidst the cacophony of life’s ceaseless bombardment

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