The Unknown Missing Hand

Over the past many days, weeks or months maybe, this has to be the finest piece of poetry I think I’ve penned down… I’m kinda optimistic about this one. Everyone’s got a sack called the ‘feels sack’ where they keep hold all those moments and memories which they barely share with anyone. The sack which you and only you can access. But I think it won’t be wrong to justify that sometimes you and your brain are two different, distinctly functioning bodies. Especially when you’re asleep, which is when your brain secretly opens up that ‘feels sack’ followed by a hailstorm on you whilst you’re stranded in the middle of a ‘nowhere desert’ having nowhere to hide…

The willingness to write and forget,
Is like opening a door and slamming it shut.
The emotional imbalance,
Due to the revival of wrong romance,
The never occurred fights n arguments,
Where she does forgive me,
But unfortunately only in my head.

Sometimes I do wish to never wake up,
Letting my brain to cook things up,
Allowing everything ‘subnormal’ to be ‘unstable’,
To live a ‘probabilistic future’ now only ‘dream-able’.

Opening a door always opens up two possibilities,
To either welcome someone or to offer last goodbyes.
Now that she’s long gone,
And I’m all alone,
After pushing out many more,
Than I’d ever let in before.
All I’m left with are the nightmares of yesterday,
Which eat a part of my soul every passing day.
Yet I fail to understand,
Whether to let go,
or to still hold firmly,

THE UNKNOWN MISSING HAND…

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