If you ever caught spring breeze, hammering

on the wall, paperweight: breaking glass doors,

released the inhabitants of years ago

that you felt like taking with baggage, sinking

in the shoulder blades.

Reunion of hundred years, multiple with sixteen

times, ever realised how many of them are behind you?

It means treasure, it means place, all running

a rate race, static, motionless, who caught who?

A bond— such synonymous — a word filled

with emotions, I rarely open in the copy world,

take high, higher, highest huddles, all snatching

words from mouth, wandering in the same fall

carried away in different places, between perfect

strangers, can it take place?

You're not living alone, standing to each other

in a poem line, breathing, living, loving together

to create another sixteen acres.

— 10th December, 2023