At that rippen age,
where everything is starting to go uneven.
eyes turning stained yellow
lines start to appear
sagging sluggishly once one proud to have.

yet, one still scoff confidently
poofing to the thin air of humidity.
glaringly moving, mashing
the hopes of the little one.

Persistently it is stopping the heartbeat.
Begging mercilessly to the
sounds of the mellow triumphs
and shouts of the hurting joy.

drops of the rains are deafting
and muting the helpless-
it thundered the heart,
clenching the already bruised,
already wounded wounds.
of to what extent?
of till what moment?
can one stands the Beauty of the
sneering sun.

Ripping the skin
toring the bits and pieces
and it drowns
the unfulfilling wishes
of the unachievable dreams
and hesitantly pursuing
the infinite loop.

Aisyah
03.03.09

a poem dedicated to a dear friend! Be strong ya.. (w.s.n)