To her, a tiny infinity- mostly for reasons unknown,
a dominant archetype or the flowers of her world alone.
Words, jumping out like
waterfalls. And her
realms of unimaginable light
and blur.
To her, a friend; for minnows of metaphors
an uniformity sustaining shamanic storms.
I say not, that I say for,
these neurotic impulses unfolds-
triggers of psychic lore.
Eyes, smiles, and yes
the atmosphere,
her atmosphere (adored).
To her, a beautiful soul. A privilege, must I say
is to know her. Things said, some untold,
cherished by the sky, of matters
unknown.
May be this envelop of culture,
might not understand all the language spoken.
Magical structure explored. Wind whistles-
for inexorably unfolding souls.
To her, the nexus of time and space
for whom the universe moulds.
May 17, 2015
May 17, 2015 at 8:25 AM UTC
Morning winds
reminds me of songs that might
have been written thousands
of years ago.
A song that breaths life in your being.
A song that might be the reason to
evolve your genetic composition.
Or the windy sound of
your dark hours.
I am not good at maths- when it comes to heart.
I just love with sincere joy. May be, just may-be, that
is the reason, why I am an easy target.
Like a factor factoring itself.
Or like the color of your skin lying to me,
your breath smells of your heartbreaks.
May be, I am a little twisted.
May be, we both are.
And that's how it is.
Morning winds.
Apr 24, 2015
Apr 24, 2015 at 11:46 PM UTC