The Moon Is Singing White Light

Perhaps it is better to know the world after you know yourself completely. When the fog will disappear and the pain will die out, you’ll see what you’ll see. It will be real and true. You can float blissfully only after you have drowned, till the depth pushes you back and alive. It is not the misty wind or the world that shakes me but my ideas. Everyone is quiet outside but the moon is singing white light. Until I say ‘see you later’ to the world and tap my mind twice, my soul will stand separately on the hill.
I touched my shadow and folded it and I have hidden it in the pocket. Don’t panic. Though I am running but I am looking for something…I am looking for a silent room with green grass and a tree to sit under it. I’ll unfold things without judging then.

A Memory in My Pocket

Prose Poem

A Memory In My Pocket
[Image by TanteTati from Pixabay]

I found a memory folded in a paper. I read it and it hit me.

The memory was not meant to meet me. It was draped with words that were very loud. Terse and cold.

It said ‘I am leaving you…forever’ with the initials Rosie.K.

I wondered how the person for whom this memory was meant dealt with it.

Naively, I searched around for Rosie.K, but the wind made my eyes wet instead.

I read and re-read the memory as if it would reveal some more of it through magical words.

Why do memories always make us halt, lying to us that we can play with time, even reverse it?

I folded the memory again and kept it in my jacket’s pocket.

It tickles me whenever it feels like making me unfold it.

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