The Glass With a Hole

I poured, and poured, and poured, and poured,
It was never enough.
The glass had a hole—its depth so deep
I never saw it first.
Joy, sorrow, laughter, one by one,
I filled it to the brim;
The price I paid, the reward left after,
Was only life’s skim.

I run, I turn, I stumble, fall, I try, I fail,
Now left to rot.
The glass stands still, its presence frail,
The hole now just a dot.
Once filled with tears of joy, as well,
They never learned to last.
The time I paid, the mirth I held,
It went by far too fast.

I trained, I landed, never feigned, I fended, honest,
I tried to walk.
The dunes reshaped themselves with every wind, untended,
They never talk.
The beanstalk climbed too far—the view went dim,
Clouds hazed beneath.
The life we lived, a year of undiluted surrender,
Learned how to bare its teeth.

I lived, I died, I laughed, I cried, a castle built of memory,
I tread light—the lake.
After countless moons, love arrived like silk,
Silent in its wake.
I thought I saw your face again; it was only memory,
A haze inside a dream.
I want to see your face again, even if only memory,
I hope it’s clear this time.

~ Kushagra