Month: November 2019

Quiet down sunshine,
Let the petals of world, unfold,
Before you kiss its color,
And soothe the bruises left by empty men,
Who in crippled hands could not hold,
The fragrance of fantasy.

Your tendrils,
Awaking, tender blossom trees,
Weeps a pink shadow,
Upon mute eyes, aching,
Upon fingertips, shaking,
Upon old souls, breaking,
Through the colorless quite.

Quiet down, sunshine,
Under walls that hold,
Silence as a shield,
And secret as a show.
Let the stirring limbs, take a turn,
To a deeper sleep of sanity,
And those eyes half awake into another world,
Find your light, upon the fallen twigs,
A miracle to behold, and bring back,
Into this realm of togetherness.

How certain would the world be,
I ask of your face, O sunshine,
Fleeting through the emerald chaos,
Of meadows cold upon your tongue,
If you lit them alight,
In colors of their own choice?

They said do write things,
Such that the world could repeat,
So I wrote down ‘Echo’
And that is it, that is it, that is it.

The beauty that I held,
Like envy in every eye,
Dwells now in still life,
No more than a lie.

Tommorow our sacred symbols;
Vacant spaces, holding together,
The meaning of purpose,
Shall be noiseless markings,
Etched unto stone, to be buried deep in time.

Tommorow, shall we be,
Fair to such fortune,
Left in the ungainly hands?
Will it suffice to savour,
The moments, when what cometh,
Never comes, and what passes, never stays.

Will the new breed of soil,
Not vie to dig,
The bones of kingdoms long lost of love,
And bite hard into its marrow,
To taste what once stirred our souls,
And fired our flesh.

If not then what have we done,
If yes then what did we do,
For who shall ask of the sun,
If what we have is false and what we had is true?

Tommorow we all shall be forgotten,
Forever and ever, till all we hold clever will never be seen; Stonehenge, Babylon, Apples of Hesperides,
Pyramids, polka dots and everything in between.