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Aromas of childhood wafting through
Are they immortal in you, O wayward Wind?
For I've aged in myself
metamorphosing through linear years;
And the freshness of youth which was once beheld, now
Has all but been buried under the dunes
Of shifting memories accumulated;
Where there once was an oasis of innocence—
Where bathed this pristine soul;
But since has been evaporating from this cloudless arid clime.

Methinks you've vaulted my scent of nascent-hood
O dear, dear omnipresent Wind,
So that I may inhale the tang of youth
Cycled back by your exhalation
So that I, may gulp a self, that was once closer to life.
So...you want to know yourself?
Listen then to everything else but what you think is you,
Even to the silent interactions;
You are but the summation of your external influence,
your internal world is the reflection of the outer.
Or is it the obverse of that?
But if you want to know the real non-you:
There exists this black hole at the centre of your universe
Get ****** into it and know that you never really existed, externally.
Made up non-you.
Beliefs—to stay alive
Broken to live.
Not a poem, more of a dictum.
I had always wondered—what could be eternal?
Since I'm taught that everything is transient.
Though I've been destroyed by you—
My Love for you is indestructible.
I guess that answers that.
That inimitable perfumed scent
Exuded by you—
Shall hereupon transfix and stupefy me
—For eternity
For all recherché aromas
Which are now encountered by this sense
Have all but lost their allure—
For yours has made them all superfluous!
Silence—the galactic language—
Enunciating exploding Stars,
A background to Humans' dialect.
If you start with the eyes—
Rest becomes beautifully negligible
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