Kintsukuroi- "To repair with gold"; the art of repairing pottery with gold or silver lacquer and understanding that the piece is more beautiful for having been broken.

Inspired by a friend of mine who continues to get me out of the darkness within me.

He sat there by the shore 

On the harsh winter night 

Wind and water, merciless

And still he sat against their might.

He sat there all alone 

Watching the day turn into dusk 

For a blind eye 

It was nothing but the color of husk.

It was familiar to him 

For he went there frequently 

He couldn't help 

But admire its beauty.

All calm and collected 

All soft and silent 

But no one could see 

What he bore underneath.

What is it? You ask,

I would never know 

But I wish I did 

For it was never clear, as to what he did.

I got to know him 

And so did he 

He was a mystery to me 

And I was an open book.

We knew each other 

Yet we didn't

For he was a mystery to me 

Surprisingly, I was one too.

Days turned into weeks 

And weeks into months

He remained a mystery to me 

I became an open book.

We kept talking 

We kept meeting 

This time,

I got to know him.

Under his skin

There was a war 

For he had faced consequences 

That everyone wished they didn't.

Anger, depression 

Fear, hate 

Disappointment and aggravation 

Pent up in many states.

Many other things 

Created his self 

He looked different yet ordinary 

Still remained unique.

His eyes told a story 

That no one would ever read 

He continues to be a mystery 

And I, an open book.

He is not a simple person 

As I said, 

Unique

All on his own.

Every moment we spend 

Brings in a new surprise 

Do tell me, 

Who doesn't like surprises?

His world is completely different 

Compared to yours or mine 

For one's eye he was a sinner 

To mine a saint, wise in his own way.

Never cared for those 

Who pushed him away 

He believed he was on his own 

"And its better this way."

To some, he may look different 

Because he was

But you're still the same person deep inside 

Whatever you were.

He had piqued my interest 

Not because he was different 

But because there was something 

That made him peculiar.

He had priorities 

"Never waste time on someone who won't care."

But he still went through the troubles 

To see me and make my day.

"Ain't got no time, 

Ain't got no sunshine." 

Whenever I think of it 

It reflects in a different way.

Person with little words 

Big meanings hidden beneath them 

"It's all up to you to make it sound right." 

Is what he'd say

Love isn't his game 

And trust his fair trade 

He still gives hope to those 

Who wish to see better days.

We never know 

What tomorrow brings for us

But still, 

We look up to a new day.

Questions rhetorical now 

Answers unspoken yet answered 

He still remains a mystery 

And I, an open book.