Your soul is the moon after dawn
A vapour who sings of love as well as pain
A delicate blossom that twirls with zephyrs
Fragrant and enriched by the snow's kiss
The geese have fled from iced lakes
long preserved with whispers of old
In the shade of bamboo, my flute is heard,
carried to you by the frost-kissed air
Your soul, a vapour, the moon after dawn
Hear my hymn of peace,
till winters turn to fawn

He tiptoes through the dark forest
in the smell of damp earth
combined with old fallen leaves
in this bitter summer eve.
Dull cloudless sky hovers over him
along with the bare limbs
of tall trees while he hears
cooing of birds returning to their nests.
He makes his way slowly,
but his heartbeat is on the run,
rises, falls as if imitating the sun.
A battle of words is taking place inside him,
but he does not dare to whisper.
Stars slip out of existence
and moon is about to set.
Comfort disappears, regrets pose a threat.
Last thread of light casts shadows
on the ground where he treads barefooted.
Waves of nervousness wash over him
whereas folks lumber in peace-
a complete detachment from the scene!
Reaching the far end, he bents
holding his knees, sweating all over
as if his one last hope ends.
to be free of all his burdens.
His eyes catch a glimpse of drowning dawn
making him wonder if the universe
abandoned it too between
transition of day and night
just as he is left out unseen
somewhere between dreams and memories.

“When an injured athlete urge a comeback to field for love of game, his vulnerability toward previous muscle wound hinder his mental ability to go on with a full swing. Though, same rule implicate for people who hold bleeding pen to draw alphabetic emotions”

Yesterday I met one of those fragile birds. She carry fractured pen fingers under her beautiful skin, has curious eyes with strange shyness and a touched heart. The pursue of selflove somehow quelled her creative charm. I never expected to encounter someone so likeminded. She put away her pen to avoid emotions, identically similar reason made me quit this so-called ability which once lured bunch of close friends and many others who never knew the face behind these emotionally colored pages...

Wish I could feel her feathers and let her touch my scars, but her shivering Fragile Soul stopped me to become a...
‘Bad Boy She Craves For...’

I Envy These PERSIAN Winter Chills;

Destined To Embrace Your Essence...

Though, Scripted To Graze From Your Presence...