Euphoric Sunday morning,
      fluff blissful, feathery pillows -
         still resonating the
               scent of night
        beyond supernova's
             transcendent certainty,
   whence gods were called
       upon by name,
            reverberating
               over
                   and over
                        again

A swashbuckler
who sharpened
    his sword
upon unkind
     poetic words

~~
What's coming out from inside
At first I could not understand
Sometimes some words make a pain
Even can make a lot of meaning
Sometimes in vain,
To say that, alone, alone

Then if I aligns those random words
On a white paper
As the Jigsaw,
And if I try to rearrange
It makes a little senses

Sometimes life is like a river flowing to the,
Sings the music of nature
Where Sparrow and Starlings play day and night,
Build their home
Make their family

They feel romance,
Inspired everybody to be romantic
Or Maybe say about the lost Spring
Even can say about the mystic origin of creation

Not just happen
Of Course  there any link between
Gravity of time, its responsibility
Not someone anyone to take

Any love,
Distinct memory,
A few questions
Sometimes those answers matching
Or Sometimes do not match

When the time comes to go back
To its own courtyard
Mystic mesh masks
The seasonal variations

You and me
Our Childhood
Nexus
Love
Everything is slowly faded from
The memory pages
~~
@ Musfiq us shaleheen

Your sun stroked fingers
smooth my dusted galaxies
spoiling orbiting blues
with swipes of stardust.

You kiss meteors, murmur
how you savored snippets
of Jupiter's moons in the
spaces of a poetic eclipse.

Adorning Saturn's rings
in your nebulous tombs,
rekindling your smile with
flames of lovers past.

The memory is still buried
within my core, a pounding
resonance that evokes the bloom
of summers kiss on Earth.

A welcome release for the
nights wandering stars.