By: Trishant Subedi

Behold that olden world—the grief still
waiting to be told.
I know it was a thing I could have told.
I was forgotten,and was growing old.

I am leaving with the cold air,
I am leaving with a silent despair.
Do not follow me everywhere—
I’ll be nowhere,but a thought up there.

To you, I can only tell my name,
not from where I came,
not what I’ve become or became,
as I’m burning in the freezing shame.

If you someday wish to visit my place,
remember,I will not be there to show my face.
I want to leave no trace
that you came and saw my space.

Leave me alone beneath my own depth,
unaware of my own breath.
Until the end,I will not breathe—
I am not dead,but lost in death.