Seasons of Self
I look at you, you look at me.
Are you what I could be,
If all my life I was set free?
Not altogether, you were lost.
It made me stronger, but at what cost?
I lost you in pieces here and there,
In winter frost, in summer glare,
In autumn fall, and spring clear.
I lost you in every season of every year,
Bit by bit, until you eventually disappear.
Little by little, another person was shaped.
Little by little, the old person was scraped.
The shell of a new person around was draped.
And when the shell was blown away,
Your real reflection there still lay.
No arguments would make it untrue.
By losing you, I was losing me too,
Because you were me and I was you.
Copyright © Eman Iqbal | Year Posted 2026
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