Have you ever wondered whether someone
has had the same dream as you?
The same motion of flying through those swirling clouds,
the same way you fall down endlessly,
and rise up into the night.
The same old person knocking at your door,
with an axe in his hand,
and the same faint noise as he slashes
through the throats of all you hold close,
and you wake up, with a heavy feeling your chest,
drowning in a pool of your own tears.
Your mother heard your whimpering in your sleep
and tried to wake you up,
but you seem stuck,
living the same agony again and again.
The same surreal experience where you see your body lying,
and you’re unable to wake up.
Have you ever wondered why we don’t dream the same way?
The same deep blue oceans,
the same Milky Way and shining stars,
yet our dreams are far apart.
Have you ever wondered whether someone writes the same way you do?
The same way you dot your I’s and curve your o’s,
the same curl in your “r” which makes it tough to understand.
The same line in a poem when two lovers depart,
the same mystery to a stranger who caught your eye,
and the same sadness that makes you feel alive.
Why is it that we never write the same way?
We have the same alphabets,
the colonial language and literary canons,
yet our feelings are so stark.
A poem on 3 am thoughts that get me by during quarantine. We are so alike, yet so different. Sharing similar experiences, yet our mode of expression stands apart. We are made of stardust, the same matter celestial bodies contain. Our lives intertwine, as we move forward to explore this cosmos.
Have you ever wondered why we don’t love the same way?
Gently and softly like your lover’s first kiss,
intense and breathless like the man always amiss,
dark and heaving like your poetic muse,
young and fragile like your dainty heart.
We grew up on the same movies,
the same old songs,
our life taught through them,
yet we stand in contrast.
Why is that your butterflies are different from mine?
Yours bright and pastel with slender wings,
sucking sweet petals off your chest,
while mine dark and dusty,
almost moth-like, fluttering in the air?