~~
This is called a bed, a bier
All the faces who have
gathered in the windows have blurred
The lens is worn around
Still, I am going away from
the bottomless star
They have moved away from road
Sounds become smaller sighs
Anymore I do not see,
The yesterday's busiest bird
Alone in the silence,
The haze pine forest standing
It is a pleasure to wait for the bird
while close the eyes,
Springtime in the gray forest
My hand in her hand,
In the late afternoon's soft light
Strong wet black hair smell
All that is going
To move away from my sight
Pull together in the dark
The childhood, her hand, the drunk smell
Covered with a black screen
I'm going up from the CoT
Are mixed in the air,
moving clouds, rafting
unfamiliar tunes of fair, anywhere
At Times, Unseasoned, without any reason!
~~
@Musfiq us shaleheen
.
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