Aryan

Acquainted I was to many, but today I was seen.

What art do I make anymore? In level to what he made me feel.

I smiled and I smiled and I smiled like?

Like I was a masterpiece.

He told me stories.

Without speaking.

Of terror, of hatred, of need.

And altogether all in one moment, all in him.

Hurt and hurt he ran around.

But no escape.

Forced to breathe in the air of fall.

Shatters me to imagine his life or no life or anything at all.

And yet he, the strong man.

Dares to fall in love.

And loves so beautifully.

As if,

I am the lover.

Nameless, to strangers I have always been.

The real masterpiece, he

didn’t care and with all he had,

he

called me Didi.

A poem on me and the 6 year old autistic cousin meeting for the first time.