that the world is too large
to carry whole.
So we reduced mountains
to triangles, oceans to blue ink,
people to symbols.
Perhaps every metaphor
isn't an invention, but an
apology for language
being too small to hold a
living thing.
So you should know when
I reduce your name to a
a certain shade of red.
Your face to a yellow
breasted sparrow that visits
my village every winter-
Maybe I've failed to
become large enough to
contain you, and everytime
you're my favourite
jasmine or guava my
grandma loved,
You should know it is a
silent apology for my
inability to comprehend
you enough.
So lemme unapologetically
make you a coastline,
turn you into a tide and mark
every place I kissed you as a
lighthouse.
Every argument, a cliff.
Every return, a harbour.
Let every poem I write
be a humble submission
before the sky you've
grown into.
And every metaphor
I've ever written be a star
I've counted, not knowing
how many more I've to
come up with, to sigh into
a disbelief of how
infinite you are.