Q u i d a m

A suitcase

The sky doesn't forget to bleak, even

for a slightest to node, I'm pulling the bulky

suitcase, for its heap to carry out for so long—

I remember how in the earliest noon,

my mother used to get a (peachy) slumber,

I tiptoed on my toes in the courtyard

of my house, in the backdoor— there's our

kitchen, where the jar of spices safely kept.

*

little me, had to fall for the cravings—

so, i couldn't help but got a taste of each

flavour, if i only knew these tastes weren't

gonna leave my taste buds so soon.

now, within each breathe— it's only

getting stronger, the saltiness : drenching

my cheeks again, for I know better

to get a hold, before the bitterness of sour

dare to touch my soul.

*

I packed up those flavours, locked

in a suitcase, whereas sweet alluring

baiting wouldn't reach to my ears,

finally pushing the suitcase in this pool

of blood, maybe i'm finally rubbing off

the (thickly) spice jars.

A new sun ray peaks in the east corner.

—11/02/2023