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May 2016
There is a crease to my lips,
That bends into the cheekbones only when I think about Him.
I don’t know why but it is endless.
I know that complete self of myself when the crease of happiness happens.
I know that there is nothing ahead. Neither woe nor smile.

Certainly.

But, well, we humans don’t learn in go, do we? (Or a million …)
I don’t comprehend why the sadness has to implore me.
But, it does.
It is my pleasant indignation.
I have none else to convict.

Do you know when does the poesy auspiciously fly into a poet?
During the usual festivities. Like one this new year.
It is just that, their image is opposite.

They seclude their selves to include into a sad session of poesy rather than enjoying the striking hours of new year’s eve …
Like the rest.
Our joy is in avoiding our dreams, exactly when it appears, isn’t it?
Because thawing the pain in mute is ******,
every time.
December 31, 2015. The stroke of midnight.
Just before Thorne and Randall arrived.
Ceida Uilyc
Written by
Ceida Uilyc  25/F/Hyderabad
(25/F/Hyderabad)   
458
     Philipp K J, --- and ---
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