A yearning desire, thirst to fulfill
I look into the endless land
As I stand at the edge of a high wall
Holding back, with anticipation.
One day it shall be complete
My once upon a time
When he comes from a faraway land,
My knight in shining armor.
On a beautiful white horse
He will take me away
Where nobody will be
Just him and me.

Seeping through the window,
A beautiful yellow light
Revealing a small room,
With shades, dark and bright.

Amongst the pretty sight,
Stood a white canvas,
In the middle of it all,
All shapes and colors.

It waited to be touched,
Get splashed with paint,
To feel new and colorful
Not ordinary and plain.

But the artist denied,
“I won’t” he said.
It’s too beautiful to be touched,
“Too pure!” he exclaimed.

Beauty lies in the ordinary
Have the eye for it,
Extraordinary it shall become
However pale or bright.

So stood the white canvas
With pride, this time
Complaining no more,
Feeling adorned and white.

Silver beams from the heavens above,
All a shadow but a lucid scene
Bickering lights from ships afar,
Like that of fireflies among the stars.
Blaring powerful booms of fire
Illuminating the black infinite,
As though spells are being cast,
A magic waiting to happen.
Underneath is a turning enormous wheel
Lit like the outbursts up high,
Carts speeding on the metal tracks
Tents that give out joy.
I see it all for one last time
The best spot in the city,
As I sip from the best tent
My favorite cup of coffee.

I’m fatal, to your life,
And though you know,
you don’t resist me.
You ****** me puff by puff
until I was reduced to
well, not nothing.
You didn’t stop with me,
And went on and on,
a new one every day,
new soul every day.
You think I ceased to exist
and no trace of me remained,
but wrong you are and
that you should know,
I am and will remain to be
inside, where you took me.
Turn is mine but you don’t realize
as I ruin you cell by cell,
like you did to me, few months ago
until that time arrives,
when you will be reduced to
well, not nothing
and death finds your way.
Then you may join my other half
with no one to avenge your fate.
Regards, that cigarette of 7th October.

Curved to smoothness, a wooden mess,
To a refined Mahogany soprano
Four strings held, tight on the neck
A Hawaiian soul tuned cheerful.
Great power it holds, the polished piece
All swoon at its voice and sight
Gives the beholder the might to please
And contentment to the listener.
A downward strum, against the wood
A cacophony bliss unveiled,
Let your subconscious indulge
In the trail of the divine theme.