~~
Sometimes Loudly
Sometimes Silently
Yellow leaves have fallen,
Becoming dry
Pale
Passing through as the grained Sound on the Street

Slowly dark flees across the evenings
What an Illusion!
What Shadows!
Has Shuffled
The Past
Present
Future

Your form that creates metaphors
And what a wonderful feel
Through out its gravity
Night dancing,
When aroma of Night-Queen
Moving in the air,
Plays with the moonlit
As if Reminds
The First love Poem

Has burned within the form
Standing to fascinate
Away, a dense bunch
Of vine Forest
Bored Air moving
Listening the murmur
Of dried leaves
In the passing wind of banner
As if Someone Calling with
My old name

Empty
Restless Heart
Today is the tune that somewhere else
Like a flow
Of a distant river melody,
Surging waves of the attack
In the Strange night of Spring

Continuous grey leaves falling
Falling on the Floor
Whispering the words on the street goes through
What an Illusion!
What Shadows!
~~
@ Musfiq us shaleheen

Green with envy, black with beauty
Red with passion, the blues not soothing.

White to black, in three seconds flat.
Love to hate, in just a snap.

Choose a side, any side
As long as it's one

Bite the bullet faster
And prepare your own gun

Crazed, then organized
Grey matter in between

Choose a hand, any hand
And call her your queen

Tell her you want her
Then want her to die

So settle her off
With a bullet behind her eye

Feel sadness, then succession
A stab of painful regression

Heavy hearted,
Though your feet shall tread light

As you run, disappear
Into the black curtain close of night.

You are the sand that I hold
        
              for mere seconds before it
                   
                               slowly spills through
                                     
                                                 the cracks between
                                                        
                                                                    my fingers.
                                                        ­                             
                                   ­                                                                 ­    Leaving me with but microscopic granules,

insignificant nothings.

                                                               ­                  You are the white crested waves crashing upon the shore

warming my toes for only seconds in the

                                                                ­                                                                 ­                            damp sand.

You recede, to the deeper blue, leaving my toes too chilled to move.


                                                         ­                                            I can be your sunset, if you be my silhouette

imitate my morning light within the sky

                                                            ­               in your brilliant mind remind yourself, the sun is also a star.

I feel with each passing day, my flame slowly dies.

I suppose
as we grow older
the bitter wind
bites,
just a little bit colder.

The summer heat,
feels just slightly
more unbearable,
a tad  
too sweltering.

The wind whips
more aggressively
than before,
blowing through
the window screens
& underneath front doors.

Summer scent,
doesn't seem
to hold the same
saccharine bliss,
as it did
when we were
but kids.

Dread & gloom
appear with the
slow spit of rain
but,
do you remember a time
it filled
the puddles in which
you used to
laugh & play?

"Youth is
wasted on
the young"
We are so
often told.

Yet I see
no prevalence
in being
embittered & old.

I
                                                               ­                                                               lo­ve
                                                                ­                                                                 ­               you
              
                               ­                                                                 ­       to
                                                              ­          the
                                                                ­                         horizon


                             where
                                                           the
         sun
                                               kisses
                    the
                                  ­                           sea,


                                                          ­                                               and
                                                                ­                           the
                                                             ­                                                 sky


          ­                                                                 ­                                                                 ­           fills
                                                           ­                                                                 ­           the
                                                                ­                                                                 ­                                                               creases

                                         ­                                                                 ­    where
                                                       ­                                  I
                                                               ­                                         fail
                   ­                                                              to
                                                              ­                                             fit
                                                             ­                           with  
                               ­                                  your
                                                                ­                     consistencies.

Hand shaky, balancing the easel
Paint brush tight within grip
I've never seen a rainbow
Come and go so quick

It seems as if the rain clouds
Parted only for a moment today
Grey desolates,
but fear not, the colours will make their way

Shoes paint the streets with difference
Among all crowds, the brush flicks
But drop your tools & raise your arms to the sky
For you must paint the wind with your fingertips.

I long to run with the wolves,
feel the cool earth beneath my paws,
hunt a seemingly innocent doe
and shred her throat with teeth & claws.

I long to travel the mountainside,
the dense forests in which the pack hides.
And when I reach the top, I'll breathe sharp & realize
I've never been this high.

I long to nestle close
with those dear & whom I treasure most.
In a sea cave, lined with sand
just off the Pacific coast.

I long that when I'm old & frail
in a bed of leaves, I'll lie curled nose to tail.
I'll simply close my eyes, let the breeze sway
for this game was worth the life we played.

21.
Legal.
Sanctuary.