He spends too much time with his head buried in books,
With his eyes fixed on black and white,
With his mind soaring in the clouds.
He spends too much time searching,
Searching for something,
Answers to something...
A question he had, was it?
And the solidness in the question that gripped his mind
Was long gone now,
Gone faster than it came.
Autumn comes with leaves of orange and yellow
Lifted up to the sky with a bed of wind.
He still searches,
His eyes still fixed on the words a few inches from his eyes.
He spent too much time searching to look up now.
He never looked up.
Never.
Not for one second because he was afraid,
Afraid he was going to lose it...
Lose what? He asked himself
Lose what?!
He lost it again.
Winter comes in a boisterous blizzard
His skin was cracked and his bones were cold
But now, more than ever,
His eyes raced,
Pages upon pages,
Books upon books.
And for one moment,
One split second, he thought he found it,
What he had been searching for,
And this time he told himself he won't lose it,
I won't lose it, he said time and time again,
I won't lose it.
Hopelessly, he realized he had been wrong.
He threw the books angirly,
Every single one of them
One by one
Until his arms were tired of throwing.
He wept until his eyes burned.
He was tired.
Tired of searching
Tired of forgeting
Tired of loosing.
Hopelessness flooding his heart,
He told himself he wanted to forget.
And he looked up
For the first time in so long,
And his eyes widened,
He tried to stand up, but his knees buckled.
There it was.
How could it be?
How long had it been,
That the answer was in front of him all along?
-- Selam H. --
YOU ARE READING
A Day in the Life Of
PoetryLife is a complex journey made up of thousands of stories. Whether these stories are told or untold, ordinary or extraordinary, these stories are what make someone who he or she is. Every pain, every joy, every laugh, every grievance, is what shape...
