How far can you walk
into the dark forest?

How far can the dark forest
walk with me?

Every step.

And as I ceased walking
in the university of resurrected moonlights,
I looked at your bare feet
traversing the stars

towards me.

Your breath hung heavy between us,
rapid and dense
As your hands traversed
the fatal land of thousand songs.

And upon the river,
the stars descend and inquire about
the beginning of equinox
and the stretch of the sea.

Because in those hands consuming me,
I found all the certainties
needed by the hesitating days
and all retreating worlds.

Because if poetry has a face,
I found it in your palm
closing on my chest
like the wings of elusive butterflies.

I ache for you,
for your taste,
your skin,
your warmth.

Show me how we are made, my love.

*We are made of fiber,
of hidden moon.
In this tormented city,
we are made to dissolve,

in shadows,
in whispers,
in flare.

In this room,
where the plant grows like seeds in the dark
where the frontier dissolves in the depth of the night.

Meet me, other side of the Earth,
in this dream.
In the presence and absence of sheerness
and all other things.

I shall be there,
knocking upon that window of yours...

And as I lay my body on the sheet,
lay with me, you invisible one.
For I will untangle my hundred worries -
one by one,
like twisted, endless rope.

In a hurry,
the legs of the ant traversed the length of the electric wire.
Half way,
the animal hesitated,

turned round,
met my gaze,
ceased walking
before finally walking away.

It must have understood my plea
to be left alone.

Even the windows had acquired the moss. It sprawled on the pavement, the moss, with all those leaves, fallen barks, soda bottles and old hapless notebooks. The pane was shattered, its edge towering, watching time and absorbing solitude.

The **** on the front door was damped and covered in rust. From the roof, stray veins dangled and decided to suspend themselves in mid-air. Scattered on the pavement leading to the entrance were glittering kisses and shards of glass. A shadow from the past lurks apprehensively – hiding behind the wind, bending below the grass.

They say it was sleeping down the cellar. I never found out. But in the middle of it, a chair has been deserted – broken and abandoned.

The hinges creaked as l slipped my foot inside. I shivered at the face of desolation as my leg touched the corner of the door. The passing time ruined the flooring; stray plants and bleeding flowers sprouted the space and occupied the place. Sometimes, at night, fireflies light this void and drown themselves in ecstasy.

Sawdust fluttered carelessly round the stairs that ceased breathing halfway. The steps have retained the sound of the shuffling footsteps. Even the birds fear this spot, the windowpane had lost all its former glory and shining reflections. The edges of the glasses hang loose and proud, captivating than summer, sharper than words.

I moved close, bended my knees, placed my ear near your half-opened mouth and listened to the sound of your breathing. Your hair draped down the side of your arms, half of your face is hidden away from me and I wonder if you’re calling me in this dream, exhaling my name

Over
And over
And over
And over

Leaving traces and creases on the sheet as I staggered my way back beside you from the labyrinth of this captivating decay unfolding on your very palm.