The Arctic

Like a chill wind from the

North-end of my little sphere –

Only my heart exists now, maybe

“Another” is not a word, at all

At first I was roaming, a traveler

A tourist; such a world that did not

Sweep me off my feet then

I decided to climb to rooftops to look below

Where there were ice filling caverns

Of narrow rock – then came tremors,

A gross congregation of tumbling stone

But a conglomerate bravely stuck itself out of the wall

Wistfully I look on, some

Kind of longing overtakes hopefulness

Only because of the immediacy of now

And I always thought that I would be that rock

I walked a path named “you”

But I am not sure if I took a wrong turn somewhere

Or slipped or something

But I guess you showed me the way to –

Well, only a gust that freezes over

My now emaciated frame:

The Arctic is no northern uncharted mystery but

The largest crevasse inside of me.