Another Vibration

I feel the movement many times and many ways,
Each time my spirit lifts and I look up to see if pinky stirs, 
But time and again pinky stays asleep at the corner of my eyes, 
And after each time my eyes look down again to face the dull numbers and words; 

All day long with each shake of the table I look towards pinky, 
But she stays in her slumber no matter how many times I look,
And as pinky stays dark my disappoint becomes a given with each glance,
Expecting something each time knowing that there would for me be none; 

To my left and to my right screens light up alongside the faces of people,
Through it all I continue staring at lonely figures and dejected alphabets,
Hoping for pinky to light up soon so that my face will brighten too, 
Hour upon hour she stays not with me but elsewhere without anything for me; 

Maybe there weren’t that many instances,
Perhaps in my anticipation and yearning I imagined a couple of them,
Thinking that maybe with the next one pinky would flash your name,
That perhaps finally my waiting would be over and my wish fulfilled;

Another vibration. 

 

 

(Hope you enjoyed the little scribblings up there, but the next vibration indeed was from my phone – the battery died and it was the vibrations of it shutting down. Haha to the imagery of darkness and solitude comes the imagery of death and conclusion. How humorous really, what an afternoon)

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To My Left

I look to my left – a weariness and a frown,
The smooth contours of your face distort into creases of frustration,
The pain in your eyes overshadows the glow which were to be in its place, 
A pout forms over your lips as you take another sip from the cup;

You don’t deserve to have to go through it all,
This heartache and sadness never was meant to be yours to bear,
You could be much happier doing something better elsewhere, 
There is no need to have to go through this hardship on your own; 

Incoherent is what the A levels has made me today,
To my left is a picture of what the O levels has painted in the fray;

This makes no sense, 
Neither does it to my left.

In The Library

You put your head down over your folded arms in the cold hard surface of the wooden table, 
A look of distress and discomfort looms over your face and on your forehead a deep frown is cast,
It is unrestful sleep – I can see worries and troubles hanging over your soul like a burden of the past, 
Yet in my role as a stranger there is nothing I can do but look longingly at you feeling so incapable.