I broke myself where nameless currents sing,
And drank the dark that drowns the thought of “I”;
In shattered depths, I felt a formless wing
Unfold in night no boundary could deny.
I lost the name I once had learned to wear,
It slipped like breath from mirrors made of skin;
No edge remained to say “this ends” or “where”—
Only a pulse that thundered from within.
Then rose a hush—measured, deliberate—
A line, a shape, a silence drawn in light;
From scattered ash, a hand began to create
A self composed against the endless night.
It carved me out of chaos, vein by vein,
Gave weight to whispers drifting without shore;
And in that frame, I learned to hold the pain—
Not less, not gone, but sculpted into more.
So here I sway—unmade, and made anew—
A dance of loss that form cannot rescind;
I fall to feel what no form could construe,
Then rise to name the ruin I have been.
And if I break, it is to hear that hymn
Which sings beneath all order’s fragile art;
For every shape grows luminous and dim
In tides that first must tear the self apart.