Ruined and worn,
Strangled with wild vines,
Damaged,
Yet still standing,
With hanged pictures on the walls,
Of old and new,
And a place,
For growth of life.

We valid,
Even as we age,
Through the endless pain,
We are still standing.

Your eyes are Moon in ****,
Making mine as the Sun,
So bright it colours our tide,
Almost like that jade of mine.

At night when you’re out of sight,
I pray the clouds to move aside,
Unveiling your pretty light,
You are my ode to abide.

That same miracle,
Singing to my ears,
And there were tears,
Dripping on the shackles.

Heard it in the garden,
Somewhere on the moon,
In this quiet room,
Leaking rays of the sunlight.

Alas,
Never once I danced to it,
But my feathers were swaying,
As though grazed by the wind.

I feel it raining,
On a cloudless sunny day,
Flooding only me.

You’re much like the rain,
You can be soft or heavy,
Or kind to my drought.

It feels like something unwanted stuck in my throat,
Preventing my voice to be loud and clear,
Making my breathing difficult,
My brain keeps on telling me to cut it open,
That unwanted thing is better gone.
Once I cut it open,
Will I be freed too?