This shield… How I pray for it to be strong.
Till this day it can’t hide its throb. I believe it’s worn down.
Broken pieces keep being restored from the ground.
You know much more than that of a brain, for you experience oceans of everythingness that you sometimes can’t comprehend.
I beg you just feel as though prepared this time round.
These circumstances I can’t rebind.
We have to live through it; it’s just the way we were bound.
I know you’re tired but you can’t wind out.
You have to unravel a little courage because I have to swim, I can’t drown.
I have no time for a breakdown. Yet I write this paper with round droplets streaming home.
If there was a stew to heal you. I would give you all, after I make it new.
But for you there is no such thing, you’ll only be better with the prayers rising from within,
my only stew for you. You might heal when a years’ time ticks.
If, another game round won’t kick in.
You’ll be left with the wounds that I felt, as though a knife sank thick. Please bear with me till this round goes dim.
For we have a thing of optimism and hope, if that’s the crime,
then let it flower this time.
We’ll make each other feel better even if by a glimmer.
Me by poetry and you by you.
Sometimes it might not be enough, life’s scorching, beating, dreadful and rough.
But at least you, my shield, will still be there, to and true.