It has always been me and you and the tide,
All my thoughts and truths to hide;

tugged between the line that divides,
the sad still and the forever mad;

This moment I decide,
weather to be the wave or the sand;

As the vast sky sang its sleeping lullabies,
I woke up with million hanging eyes;

I watched them beckon me to their foreign land
So I left thorny black roses behind,
their dark secrets poisonous to my gentle heart;

I once exposed my hells and heavens,
the one I shared with my only treasure;

I exposed them to various unsuitable figures,
and never had I felt more unsettled,

And so I swore,
to vigorously guard what I preciously bore,
and only reveal it to my other soul;

So, dear pure soul,
sing for me,
cry for me,
laugh for me,
dance for me,
rage for me,
and pull me to your white world;

Rain down on me, your sparkling white roses,
let me swim between its endless soft petals,
intoxicate me with the scent of it all,
spin me around until I become whole under its cover;

And I shall eternally remain, regardless of sand or wave,  
a single black rose, in the field of all your white roses

Night is just night,
without it being told that
it should be dark
and sunless.

It is what it is,
by its own definition.
It does not need stars to shine
In order to make darkness meaningful.

Still, the stars shine.
They do what they do
Without self-acknowledgement,
They simply do.

Be.
Like night and stars
And meaningfulness
And Self-acknowledgement.

she rises in the evening,
and the sunset paints her pink.
she shakes off the sleep
that hangs heavily from her eyelids,
and when the orange sky darkens,
she is alive.

the inky blue air shimmers with secrecy.
she smiles for the first time since waking.
how little, and yet how much the dusk hides;
for when the sun surrenders to the moon,
the waking are their truest selves,
set free by the mask of night.

In a water filled room, there float air filled white balloons,
Highlighted by the stars and the illumination of the moon.
Calmly they move about, carrying other men’s delights;
Suspended in motion but animate with spoken history.
Do they belong to me? It’s hard to say,
Though with a breeze of force I can call them all back to me
Flipping through them like the reminiscent pages of old memories
Some dear, others unclear, but surely they taught me how to tranquilly be here.

The sentinel that is the ‘All Seeing Eye’ strolls lazily with a golden scepter in hand;
A magical Lotus ring serves at his command.
Claimed they are, trapped not in balloons and sealed jars.
Alerted by sudden ripples in the room, he hurries to the sound of an imminent gloom.
A well out of nowhere blooms, sprouting endless vines and thorns; dancing to haunting melodies and tunes.
A from in front of him appears, commanding and with a face that sneers
Hypnotized by the sound of the beautiful sadness, he feels himself surrender his scepter and Lotus.
Though remorsefully he weeps, for letting the fear seeps, and letting go of precious keeps.
Where to start, to retrieve what is lost?
Perhaps back to the beginning, towards white balloons that keeps spinning afloat,
Only then…maybe only then will I give in to the sweet surrender.

Is it wrong to want to revoke privileges handed to me by birth? The glamour and sparkle is a temptation few can resist. Who wouldn’t? After all, it is given at will on silver-plate. There is no need to exude any semblance of an effort. Oh, the delight, a dream come true!

Is it wrong to want to reclaim that which is forgotten? The exhaustion and struggle is a journey few are willing to take. Then again, walking a desert of a muddy swamp is never easy. There is every need to be weary and suspicious of what lays beneath. Oh, the horror, a contemptuous nightmare!

What a fool I am, for treading the dirt. Much more of a fool for the glee I have in my heart. For I have met you and lost you all the same; my memory of comfort, my all reflections and my reasons to love.

A place to belong, a haven for an otherwise yearning soul.