Empty Rooms


I found myself
in an empty room –
unfamiliar, strange
and full of ghosts
of people who dwelled here before me.

I dreamt about
the last room I was in:
A temporary refuge
from a chaotic abode,
tainted with my smell, energy, and sweat
Yet eventually it became
a stranger to me now.

I dreamt about
my room last year:
Creeping inside,
I got devoured by the coldness
which is the ruthless kind brought
by friends that evaporated into the air;
It is where my old books are trapped
and I cannot rescue them anymore.

I dreamt about
my room three years ago:
It reeked very little
of vile and green-eyed snakes
yet it had so much of my essence.
Still many have slept
here after me
that it got flooded with new memories.

I dreamt about
my room in my hometown:
All pink and flowery
with stuffed toys and dusty books
but eventually it gets smaller
and smaller
that I cannot breathe anymore.

And when I see myself now
in an empty big room
I ask myself,

“What have I become?”
The room won’t respond;
but it engulfed me in warmth
that almost says,
“I will nurture
what is yet
to become of you.”

-- A. C.

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