even the benevolent breeze,
spares the scattered ashes,
of what was once an asylum
for flesh and bones trapped
within wandering souls,

they told me in school
that red and green fuses to yellow
but all I can see and smell are dark ashes,
the remains of the magnificent tree,

the birds have nowhere to go now,
the dogs are dying of heat,
and I can't write poems now,
for I was a patient of that asylum

it caressed my sanity every evening
my poems have nowhere to go,
they don't hide in the branches now,
they hide within me,
and I hide inside them.

it comes with slithering steps,
a quiet wave thirsty for shores,

the collapse of senses,
the reckoning of misery,

when dreams melt and flow,
reality devours with small venomous fangs,
the air stinks of a beautiful past,

shattering of glasses,
is all you hear,

a sapphire burning red,
is all you see,

regretting your choices
and your existence,
is all you want,

but a heartbreak is not that cruel,
it is a mercy,
an indemnity,
from what lies ahead.

a sky full of loneliness.

As waves wrestle playfully,
I revel like a nonchalant dreamer near the shores,
watching the sun disappear,
while the sounds of sea,
calm its disappearance

I waited all night,
to see the golden coronation
of the bluish waters,
as the horizons brightened up
in the morning

a thousand faces,
a million visions,
now stay within me,

meanwhile the city of dreams,
sleeps somewhere.

sun bathes in snow,
a few hues melt
to eventually freeze
in the sky
a crepuscular light,
a white grave of memories,
that smells like burnt wood
and fresh dark wine
by the fireplace

a white sheet of blindness,
over a glass of silenced darkness
fire devours
the aching coldness,
the melody,
appeases even gods,

the fangs of frost
***** the petals of the flowers,
some of them will die this winter.
intertwining beauty and death
both of which we seek,
but at different times of life

lightness descends
in the head,

as brief visions of yours,
reincarnate within myself

you were not just a beauty
last night,
you were a poetic illusion,

an art made of small verses,
brewing sinful temptations

and I read you very slowly,
like one of my own written creations,

for I have been a starving reader
all my life,

and you were finally
an end to my starvation.

bring me a slice of the sky,
a bucket full of sea water,
a handful of the earth's soil,
and a breath full of hope,

for I would pray to unseen powers,
to fuse and mold,
humanity with nature again,
rinsing the sins of both,

and we shall learn to respect,
the age-old tryst,
which existed,
between the gods, we don't remember,
and the humans we once were.

a multiverse existence,
where realities slip through
the hourglasses of time,

memory is a sweet drizzle,
originating from the clouds of conscience,

an atmosphere made of nostalgia,
and we are the floating planet.

the galaxies are unknown and untouched,
we bloom and wither in this cataclysm of life

but I recollect all this,
from a beautiful dream with eyes open,

so was it a deja vu?
or my hands just slipped of this typewriter.