Arwin Shams Siddique

I am friends with the silence
Of the quiet hours just before dawn.
I am neighbors with the lovely dove couple building a nest
In the vacant hole in the wall next door where an AC used to be.
I am familiar with the whirring of our living room fan-
You can only hear it when no one’s around.
I am acquaintances with the old Halloween skeleton that we bought for no reason-
It hangs by the window for all to see.

I am related to the coffee tables in the corners
Who have lived with this family long before me.
I am as the fairy lights in the old cardboard box-
They haven’t been useful in ages and are probably broken.
I am a passing face in the life of these cotton candy clouds
Appearing once, and then never again – mutually.
I am “a ghost in the garden, digging for bones”
And I search for second chances between these bougainvillea leaves.

I am the half-drunk cup of tea on the table,
And the corpse of the fly swimming inside.
I am the creaky bathroom door
And the tiptoeing in the incomplete darkness.
I am the gentle snoring
And the sudden louder snorts.
I am the softly swaying curtains
And the sunlight now peeping through.

A box of string lights

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