Dancing Bugs
Karya Farah Nabila Aina
The bugs don’t ask
why the wind blew,
they just tumble,
tiny and true.
I tried to hold
what can’t be caught—
but they just dance,
and I forgot
I could, too.
Let the storm come,
let the sky forget my name,
and I’ll still dance
like the bugs do—
because it’s enough
to be small,
to be free,
to be.
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