You

You remind me of the lone flower growing in my nearby street lane

Regardless of the dirt and ignorance you never forget to grow a little; each day

You’re happy that they’d never pluck you out of your homeland

But equally sad of being unnoticed unknown

You look at your petals and comfort your heart by rubbing your hands together

Was I meant to be never looked after? 

You’d question;

The next street bungalow would have a huge space for all the flowers but you

You’d watch the colors of the sky and wait for the time when it finally rains

Each droplet of water is poetry to your soul

Rare and healing;

You remind me of the wheel of my first bicycle 

Circle beholding lines with colorful circles;

When I’d step my feet on the pedal,

You’d move and become one 

You absorb all the colors but yet refuse to be one.

You pray for my bruised feet

You very well know

The skin would heal and forget, but you

One day would be alone in the backyard

No one would step on the pedal for you to spin

Would you Dance with me? The circles would yell

No one yet; Desolate backyard would reply

You were never

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meant to be abandoned.

You remind me of the last cheesecake I had with my Dad 

Before he met with an accident

Will, I ever choose you again from the Desserts menu?

No. but now when I read ‘cheesecake’ 

My lungs read ‘struggling for air’

Huge dictionaries but none covering your existence

All this evolution, languages, and folklore

You were never in their words. 

Nor is the side characters of tribute. 

You were never meant to be abandoned 

Your existence existed before literature

While you read my poem

It doesn’t fix the misery of decades

It doesn’t prove to be a band-aid on bruise;

Nor poetry to the soul

Your mouth yet filled with unspoken words, tongue too perplexed to cooperate.

Survival is your first instinct; fear of abandonment is second 

You close your eyes and look up at the colors of the sky

With stretched palms beholding the universe

You recite -

“Because no matter how wide you stretch your fingers,

your hands will always be too small to catch all the pain you want to heal.”

You bloom in the side lane of the street under city lights.