"The most exquisite face wrinkles and droops with age
Roses too must wither, mocking man's desire for any eternal beauty in materiality
Death will destroy the buds of youth, Cataclysms will demolish the grandeurs of this earth
But nothing can destroy the splendor of the astral cosmos"

Many forms, but crystalline perfection;
Mystics pine, on the meaning of raging storms;
In lieu of real connection. We can
Appreciate the beauty that is laid before.
Before our time, and we veer
Without axis, & detached from direction.

Aren't delusions of grandeur just as good, if not better?

My favorite pursuit of happiness
is to recite the enchanting verses from the beauteous Quran.
To be lost in its splendor.
To Mesmerize myself with its grandeur.
Breath with pure sublimity.
I can wipe out my woes and blues.
And rise to the majestic heights of glee,
like an uncaged eagle who soared to be free.

The love of my life runs through my veins
It can't be a lie that makes me feel safe
All the jewels of emotions come into the phrase
Neutralizing stabilised thoughts for a place
Concluding I hope to get my precious gains


The Brain and Heart are my soul locators
Giving me purpose to live and aware
Following into happiness of my favorite sphere
Inside the self loving treatment of geared individuals


I dig into my thoughts of shallow waters
Growling into the fact of curious matter
I am no more the master to my beloved grandeur
I lost hope into the Truth of love for my serious self desire.

You wonder the meaning
in thousands of hieroglyphs
the roses you garnered
are still holding their stance.

The artists in fragments
collect their forgotten past
to assemble the untold future
into some hopeful slivers.

Wondering if ever appearing
on the white painted wall
there is a shadow of a candle
or mere illusion of the reality.

This
is
not
the
way
how
my
story
ends.

My veins like glass shards
   itch beneath a memory
of aging brackish memories.


I couldn't lift my arms for they
fell like a breathless moment
                                 in a forest of regrets.  
    
                     No one heard them descend,
they just bled sap slowly, till all was hollow.

And all that was left was a time that fell,
                                      and the cuts where silent.

I was a moment standing in grandeur,
        but beneath it didn't really matter
                             I
                         was a hollow moment,
crumbling beneath life's weight.

ANu dei dawns..  
                         .      '      .
                  .                           .
                .                               .
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His name is Antoine