Looking for a missing house | Tebuireng Online

Who never came home

There is a house built from miss:
The brick whispered, the roof of the memory.
He stood in the middle of the weeds,
But the door faces anyone’s chest
which has been left behind.

People come and ask,
“Is this a place to live?”
But the house was silent.
More understanding of how to stay in memory
rather than at the address.

Every night, it turns on the lights
In their forgotten hearts
that they were once a port.

Trees that never fall

There are trees that never lose their leaves.
Not because the season does not change,
but because of each stray
Save the story that refused to leave.

The leaves are not green,
But the color of the wound that has healed.
They trembled when the wind passed,
as if saying that word
which has never been said.

Tebuireng Magazine

Sometimes, someone lean on it
and suddenly crying
Even though I don’t know why.
Maybe because he never died,
We are aware:
Not all loss must be seen falling.

At the edge of time

At the edge of time, when minutes are reluctant to run,
I sat with my shadow,
Then ask:
“Do you still know me?”

He smiled faintly,
offered a mirror from childhood,
which is cracked to form a map home.
I looked into my own eyes
There is the sky there,
but also small holes
a place to be disappointed to sleep.

“It’s okay,” I finally said.
“I don’t want to come back,
just want to make peace. “
And time goes back again,
This time, I walked.

Writer: trough
Editor: Rara Zaryry