Windless hair

I take walks at small markets to gaze at things, I am neither quick nor slow
I find myself at bustling city streets, and I often think of napping inside the hollow of a tree 
I look at the waves of the river beside my small home, and 
The sunlight on the water tells a story only the fish underneath can see
And the fish underwater are too busy waiting for their turn at the planktons that amass
And drift with the current, like a song on a fisherwoman's mast
I ask her about her day, and she tells me
That her day hasn't even begun yet, that it begins at night
So, what do you see when it's dark outside?
I ask her
Wind in my hair
She repeats the same question to me, with minor adjustments
No, what do you see? Because, for you, it's always dark
Regardless of the foot on the boundary that marks the
Inside and outside of a thing
What makes a thing?
a thought, or a world
What do you see
Underneath the crevices between your words
The worlds you create with a hand of god
A hand that profusely bleeds mid-creation
And the world outside of your words?
In truth, I see nothing worth word or thought, or that's how I feel
About how I feel about things, and I don't see myself as a thing
I frolic and burrow myself inside the vastness of the fields
And the prairies that stand tall
Of spaces heavily concentrated, and then stretched out to infinity 
Elastic deformation is one way to say that I will stand back up on my sore feet again
I would give anything for an excuse to peek at, or create a place, where the moonlight finally gives in 
To a small squirrel's nest, not far from where the acorns and pinecones hide 
I will hold myself with limbs attached to my flesh
A boy or a ghost floats across bodies of water, all red

I am my own creation

A.M. Fahad is an aspiring poet and musician. He uses vivid imagery and elements of nature to encapsulate his emotions with words, which often end up in a thought train rather than a conclusion. He lives in Dhaka with his cat. Find him at amfahad1747@gmail.com.