This syndrome I carry, Seraphic, a butterfly in cocoon churlish eyesight, colliding with your wounds. I will sew your pain Believe me, for I am the traveller of scars, I will kiss your moonlit tears and the paths it travelled, I am an archaic smell of vintage champagne. I shall regenerate always, I shall not die, and when I do, I shall with you.
Surreal spectrum of rainbows
clicking my mind
in the sultry daydream.
A mirage unknown,
till the moonlit occurs,
a failed marriage,
or child marriage
perplexion in minds
Mahogany sturdy furniture to cherish,
and the coffin is just a wood.
oh, human, what a myth!
Time: An acerbic motionless protest cling to my feet,
abstruse it lies on my face disguised as the
murky hair-strand, defining today’s black solitude
whiffing tomorrow’s grey death.
Friable snippets of my today’s sorrow still exist,
lying on my wet sheet of the chopped pillow
as the translucent water drops on my oak tree,
Dissonant hangings still sing bliss
while my insipid dulcet arms cross each other in anguish.
I see a black star, death perhaps?
I see a white star, sufferings perhaps?
Convulsions of betrayal paralysis my lower half
in the basket of crooked watermelon slices.
I knead the vacuum of Orion, stepping into the loophole
of the web of time, knots constrain my teeth,
Now, time halts inside my empty stomach
echoing the bulge of a lump of void dust.
Brushing the remnants onto my airy skin,
The striking of pendulum in my upper eyelid
gives the aftermath to a newborn me.