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Nothing is duller than the ache
For what was never Ours
A Phantom casts no Lover
Nor answers when implored

Cease the Calling Ghostly Whim!
The Wind will not return
A Flame once fed on Vacancy
Must teach itself to burn
Itself to Burn!
Stop!!!!!
~
Young clothes to age
dissolve & drift beyond the quiet grave
I may not know I may not know
The door with no unlocking key.

Yet still Reality persists
A stream that ebbs & flows
Where Time & Truth collide
& I a wisp upon its shore.

~~
~
If She is Spring & I a Tree
Skeletal, in Winter's grip
My Tears have long since fallen
Like Leaves that Time forgot
No more to fall, no more to weep
But come, oh come, with gentle Hand
& touch me, as the ripples stir
In some unfathomable Sea
That I may bloom & fall again
To weep & shed anew.

~~
Come my love & touch me
Let me bloom thrive into verdant green
So I can shed my leaves & cry again for thee.

~
Nepal
1920 BS
In the month of Mangsir
~
they met on the cold misty hillside.
Mist draped the mountains
their peaks covered in clouds.
Green terraces stretched along the hills.

~
She stood on a greenway
draped in a flowing Nepalese traditional dress
her long hair rippling in the soft gusts of air.
She turned & their eyes met
deep, significant & dreamlike.

~
Suddenly
tears welled in her eyes.
& for reasons he couldn’t name
they welled in his too
He reached to wipe them away
but with the cold wind of Mangsir
she disappeared
like every shade of burning paper blown toward the sky.
~
She disappeared
~
She disappeared
Yet
if she loved him
why didn't she leave a flower
where he first wiped her tears?

Why?
Actually this was a story not a poem that I wrote yesterday but now I’m turning it into a poem capturing all its main points & theme
She Said,
"I was his Strawberry Moon
Red & dim
Lambent with love.
But he never stepped into my light
Never felt my red beams.
And now…
Time is gone.
Time is gone."
~
& after all, what did he reply?
~
When I lost myself
In a sandscape of low drive.
Burnt out like a fallen leaf
In the storm!

~Indifferent~

Lizard king appeared in my dream
In the form of a whirlwind.

—Jim Morrison,

Riders on the Storm!


~~
Alright, c’mon, arise!~~
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