By Simran Chandaria
You are lonely nights,
twilight thoughts,
my mind in ceaseless convolution.
Ink stained fingers,
poems re-read
and pages overturned.
You are thoughts
that lay latent,
hidden between the lines.
Every word,
every adjective,
all but none and none but all.
You are crumpled sheets,
smudged ink,
poetry left unfinished—
unanswered questions,
what-ifs,
the ellipsis at the end of my stanza.
You are empty spaces,
chasms of comfort
that embrace each word.
The indispensable comma,
that sustains me
when I’m breathless.
You are side notes,
scribbled
in the margin—
a beautiful chaos
that I am yet to understand.
You are unscripted sentences,
marks of passion
that I cannot cross out.
Literature,
that no matter how hard I try,
I cannot learn to unlove.
You are words,
timeless,
my past,
my present
and my future.
You are blank pages,
the paper untouched before I pick up the pen.
Ink,
that even before I have started,
has spelt your name again.
Simran Chandaria is a seventeen-year-old poet who attends Tanglin Trust School in Singapore. She has a love for the written word and is constantly scribbling down ideas in her various journals. Drawing inspiration from her surroundings, she tends to write for a greater understanding and is particularly interested in exploring the power of language. Her other passions include singing, debating, and playing the guitar.
It’s beautiful!
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This is absolutely amazing, well written.
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