Desperate

you're not desperate enough, he said.

"Not desperate enough", he said
Not enough to express things

that must be shown

Those little details

that make pieces get together

After all you could end up being nobody

doomed for
bitter-sweet surrender to
boring talent and ambiguous greed

A small sprout isn't enough
to reach the mischievous sunshine and all
It won't be generous for an admirer

who has never ardently fallen in love
In fact it was petty, classic anxiety of mine

Wandering through minds
Holding myself tightly from
shivering silence and indifference
Hiding myself from any pupils staring sharply
just because of mundane saying
that eyes are the windows of one's mind
Too afraid to be caught
Too embarrassed to be exposed

Turned out that the windows

are mostly reflection of yours

and clear camouflage of mine

However I shall say
I, myself, once and still
am ardent and desperate
enough to taste the glow of the sun
enough to touch the sparkles of the stars
Those who have known me
might burst into laughter
saying you are always desperate at everything

But unlucky guess, my dear old friends
Actually I am just curling myself up from world
But showing nothing doesn't mean
the absence of ardent dreams
It shall mean
safely carrying the questions
that are not spoken yet,
deeply breathing in
familiar fragrance of fatigue

while misty scent of wood smoke

made of grief and grievance
floats down the edge of life