I belong to the state,
not known by myself,
by the one starring out a window
on a rocking chair,
to the bean or spark started in mother’s womb
long when I could tell is with many faces
I’ve come across and forgotten,
will not allow me to draw my dreams
in my diary.

Dear diary,

death brought to my door faces
with their masks beautifully put in place
the masks, perhaps time better left unsaid

“she could’ve lived her life well.”

I mourn looking at the picture
by the window frame,
does fragrance of her hot beverage
relate to her like colour red to blood?

she with me, she without me.
I should’ve walked on not looking
what I was stepping on.

“I vow she lived well.”

Dear diary,

care to explain where life truly begins?
without time and a mirror,
how could I have met myself

I belong to the state,
held together by breath
asleep and unaware, her hope is false hope
kicking in mother’s womb
no longer a bean.