A New Point Of View. Poem by Safiyyah Manjra

The strains of weaving sand,
Beneath the waters where I met your hand.

Out to me, you reached,
Your touch- I breached.

Self-blame isn't an invocation of fame.
Treble tones heard in disdain.

Where are you?
Are you hearing me as I am not hearing you?

The tale of our stories,
Seems to be painted with discrepancies.

We are lost in these new gardens.
Made of beautiful lavender farms.

Both cultured in our own way.
Made for each other to stay.

Indifference,
A popular correspondence.