#fato-profugus

I asked the moon “Why does my chest Feel heavy?” It shone its light Upon my heart But this only Irked me more “So? It is just One heart. Why does it feel As if the world Lives in me, As if I on my own Isn’t burden enough?” It kept its light Still on my heart And it said “It is not Just one heart But a chest That can hold another. Wouldn’t it be nice To know that We feel burdened Because we carry A piece of someonelse Inside all that We thought was just us?” I kept still as the moon Went on, “It feels as heavy As the world Because we feel deeply For the small things That matter most.” I listened to you conversing to a bleak moon quivering into thousand replicas at my tepid coffee cup and I watched your skin peel off the pallor of gnawing darkness as you toss your sighs, heap by heap in a lambent lambaste And I watched the moon elude us in its grace because we are tired, and hapless, and weak that we love to dream asleep or awake; that we neglect the grievance behind the pale gregarious moon, that these little slivers we carry in our hearts lacerates us, feeds on our blood, deforms us, reduce us – but in the light of oblivious selflessness we forge dreams and these little slivers burn to massive stars and paints a galaxy in the blackhole of our hearts But for now, let us collect more dream dusts in this harrying avenue of furloughs and wrinkled constellations. Collaboration by: Artreture Fato-profugus