Our conversation ends Like they usually do When the doors slide open to a crowded room.

We step in and find a space to fill. The cables lurch as I reflect on this perfect day Already missing you while you're still here.

The previous hours blurred between stories, rants and laughter. A few drops of joy Pours into our river of memories.

Now we are in this shared space, Watching folks prepare to leave, Knowing it's nearly our turn.

For me to remain and you to go. Leave this day behind and meet again. Our conversation ended too soon.

How many more sunsets can I savour? Breathe in the bush and the trees, Feel the wind brush past my fingers Or sand cling to my toes.

I hope, enough. In the midst of commitments, And anxious undertones Of our world falling apart.

How much love can one heart hold? I wonder with my bare feet planted on the grass, Listening to kids play and aunties chat While couples walk with linked arms.

My heart is full.

It won't be the rain that didn't stop Nor the floods that threatened our safety.

It won't be the fires that were too close to home Nor the heat that made the air thick.

It won’t be the many signs we ignored While working in our air-conditioned offices, To make the rusty machine spit soot.

It won’t be the families forced to leave their homes. The end will come with our kids; Deprived and uncertain.

Their future robbed and ours to dust.

I wanted to make a list of all the things That made me feel warm and content.

• A drink that goes down smooth
• Footsteps on boardwalks
• Hot cup of tea after a big breakfast
• The quiet of a reading nook
• Being remembered by distant friends
• A deep breath amongst trees
• Laughter

This list sounds like poetry to me, And that too fills me with warmth.

Change is difficult, As we are mired by our burdens. Holding on to a permanence and comfort, In a world that does not care.

We don't need much to simply be; Food, shelter, warmth, touch, And things that could move our hearts. Yet these days they are all replaceable / consumable.

Except, for a few treasured keepsakes. That anchor us to our moments of connection. Though even they fade— As we too are consumables.

Listen till your ears bleed Till your heart breaks And you can't bear to listen no more.

Then keep listening. Till you live how they live And their pain is your pain.

Then, Maybe then, You can speak.

I'm hanging off a ledge Fingers slipping, Knuckles locked in fear I don't dare look below.

But the cliff isn't that high. When I fall Barely a moment will pass And I'd feel the warm earth under my feet.

I know all this, Yet I can't let go.

So moved by sensations & textures That yearn to be understood. My being consumed by patterns.

Tapping into the pulse of the universe, Connected to the history of life And to the artist.

A person, Like me. Who can feel so intensely.

Delight, Nuances, Strategy, Repeat.