the years

& what do we do, plagued with this knowledge that we carry?

liken ourselves to the dusk that bends earthwards as light springs in the east?

the night does not say, after all these years I want to live longer than the hours given me

rather, it spreads itself for the moon to lick & then returns home

but we—

we carry a spirit that has learnt to never die

like a stream that never travels alone but is buckled by all that it has seen

all that it has heard & witnessed. leaving libraries of itself on pebbles & periwinkles

never departing from a place without remembering its name

we, dear friends, carry all the touches of one another

the voices. the warmth that reminds us that the sun too wants to be tender

we kiss the night. burn a cigarette maybe. a glass of liquor that was once stolen

watch the stars blush in the vast space up there that beckons to us

& we are reminded of the years forged by laughter

the years forged by words