Memoirs of unwritten verses,
Waiting to find the words;
Feelings of unrequited longings
Couldn't be put on paper.
A dream trip you never took,
A half-done hobby or a book,
A few scribbles,
A friendship
Without a closure to comfort you?
Do they matter at all?
What troubles our nights?
In the hollow emptiness of your mind
The sleepless soul asks in an echo,
"What are we? Who are we?"
An accumulation of particles
Forming a shape and mind,
Floating insignificantly in the universe
Loathing in superiority and pride.
© Suranya
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