written by saffiya sheikh (sheikhspeare)
part 1: dirt
if you looked up at the roaring skies, would you find the future you sought?
you believed you needed to seize and to believe,
in the melodies that guided you to the homes you sought to build,
yet only returned here;
spoiled soils of scattered dirt continues to shatter your perception of the earthly world you aspired,
chasing a dream,
becoming a mere memory; for the expectations and the bathing nostalgia becoming what you wished, all you wanted was within the palms of your hands,
and the sliver of the clock’s hand stole your hope out of your chest,
you sought to run from the past, in hopes to accomplish the ambitions that were sewn into your memory; for the mistakes that circulate your chest, become the never ending carnival you believed to continue to haunt you so;
you hear the creak croaking, begging for the rocks and the lizards to return once more; the childhood dreams you sought to become the crisp of the cookies you loved to bake;
sensations slips from your stations; placed within the seals of the letters you wished to mail out the window,
yet
they were never sought to escape from your grasps,
for your only memory of the past laid
in the pens and papers you’ve trashed,
becoming one with the regret that lingered within the calligraphy lines, to despise and to revise; you’ll never live past the mold hills, dug to bury your lessons of the old towns that continues to be on your sights; you took the old train home, and the scrapped lines you believed to be repetitive found their way back; in the old journal, where you continued to chart;
the soil, the dirt, and that laid within,
for within every pebble, is there not a life worth keeping?
we yearn to remember and regret; the capital letters indicating the new start again, only to return to the sentences we fail to erase; the world is an oyster, and yet do the tears only water the plants; each animal ponders and explores the lands;
and to ponder of a soul; reflection of who choose to explore and endure;
buried hopes within the wet dirt; the future we hold within.
we all return to the dirt eventually; six feet written fates; yet we look towards the stars;
in hopes for a future we won’t obtain,
and the ants will sing of our once invincible youth,
but merely will our souls ride the next train onto the next;
and our selves are the dirt we sought to escape; dirty and prideful in the serendipity of the dreams we carried within our cleaned blankets;
and were we not the foolish children, tracing our fingerlines over the tree roots, and you’ll look at the patch of dirt; wondering of the dead flowers that once were in bloom,
the street lamps were never meant for our foolishness,
and we merely return to our destiny,
i beg for our books to be ready by then, and our dreams sought to the skies,
for i dream to reach the skies, and hold the golden stars in my grasps;
the palms of our hands were meant for more,
i see the hope outlined in the sparks of your eyes; disappointment would be your friend if these dreams become crushed stars, turning into sediment seeds;
and our deeds becoming meaningless in the eyes of the world, for would it all wither to mist?
gravity, we will defy; slow moments returning our senses,
to the dirt once more.