a Different Kind of Poem

 

Not every poem wears the shape of love,
some carry the weight of warmth unspoken,
the echo of footsteps down quiet halls,
the hush before dinner is served.

Watched something last night, "1 Kakak 7 Ponakan",
faces I didn’t know felt like mirrors.
The way they laughed, argued, stayed,
like they had nowhere else to be
but with each other.

It made me wonder,
when was the last time I looked around
and saw enough?

There are days this place feels too quiet.
But maybe it’s not the silence
that’s hollow,
maybe I’ve just forgotten
how full it really is.

They say time spent
is the only thing we never truly own.
Some spend it on screens,
some in rooms filled with laughter.
Not everyone gets to choose.

And me?
I’ve been chasing loud things,
forgetting that the softest hours,
the ones spent doing nothing
with people who’ve always been there,
are the rarest kind.

We search so far
for what’s already sitting
across the table.