What We Mean

What we mean

Is not to be articulated

Because words aren't enough

To accommodate meaning.

Not even the ship of poetry

Can bring meaning home to you.

Why, then, do we speak at all?

Because being human means

Being doomed to persevere futilely.

~Orange

Hope, You.

The gush of the wind,

Awoke my slumber,

I reached for my phone,

Nothing again, I trembled.

Languishing with my thoughts,

Awaiting escape to another slumber.

A whole twinkling passes,

Nothing again, I know.

My imagination runs with wings,

Thinking my phone would ring.

You’d want to come back,

I wouldn’t have to ask,

You would, you would call.

But, I told you not to.

Never to call again.

Yet, at every tick,

I hope its you.

The sound of my own breath,

Too loud, yet empty.

In this lull of the night,

If I could wish for you,

I might.

Hope falls like dried leaves of fall,

Nothing again, tempted to look.

Fallen daisies, hyperbole anticipations,

Empty answers and my fragmenting heart.

I told you not to, but I hope you do.

Swati Jain

February 8, 2014