Healing

Black is turning into grey,

blending with colors of hope.

Pollution is being sucked out

to another world,

a world different from mine.

The world is overweight

Altitudes of rocky mountains

plunged on my shoulders,

tearing up my muscles,

rupturing my vessels,

slowly drawing my soul out.

That’s what the world’s burdens feel like.

What about the world?

Carrying all those creatures and their filth.

Tolerating being stepped on, shitted on.

Enduring with the pollution, be it chemical or mental.

Accepting all the change that has happened to it’s ground and sky.

Living all alone,

playing the bad guy

and taking the blame

of not just one being, me,

but also the seven billion beings still breathing,

and don’t forget the billions of people who lived before our time.

Witnessing the history built by the creatures

who blame it for their incompetence.

I wonder what kind of weight it carries.

I wonder. I wonder if I wonder is spelt correctly or not.

Leftovers

You construct 

Your own figure

Individuality

Nature.

You present yourself

To this world

And creatures that live in it.

Some assent with the person you are.

Some toy with you and your emotions,

And as they trifle, 

Your personality adjusts.

The pieces of the puzzles 

Of these situations

Are rearranged

To help you strive and overcome.

But even if the puzzles seem to fade

And you adapt 

With whatever is left 

In your life

One piece of each event

Remains.

A default. 

A reminder.

A leftover that will not rot

To protect you.