Your desperation
reeks
so much that you can
smell it in your bed
and you can hear it
in your head.
Sometimes you’d like to
fill it with
lead
so that you’ll really
be in your bed
where you can still
hear her voice
as it
echoes
in your head
like it did in the
valley.

In the valley of darkness, I shall not want
Though a hole resides where the heartbeat should be
The vessels still do their work

My lungs decay, black and smoked out
And my organs dry up from strong rums
And the things I hold dear become a desert storm

But I shall not ask for the help of dying trees
Whose fruit, though ripe, would leave me with less leaves
Or perhaps with more than I could bear

No, I stand on the mountains
The mountains we lived in, where the church sits upon the hill
I stand on the mountains and call for him

I call for him
and I know - without science or senses -
That he is near

She is born of earth.
But the other rejects its own nature.

Her body Is a muse.
But the other has no breath of its own
To inspire.

She opens up
To the rays of the morning.
But the rising of the sun
Does not excite the latter.

She dances
With the whispers of the wind.
But stiff and stifled  
The other is not tickled.

But what of the soft perfume
That lends charm
To even the most common daisies?

What little charm the other has
Are fabricated
By the hands of man

This other
In the struggle
For a life not its own
Is perverted into paralysis
And paralyzed in pretense

She is The Lily of The Valley.
But you are a plastic flower.

Cliffs tower above
Stars paint the sky with dancing light
As the young doe sleeps.

Now I can breath in the valley air,
Sans the fear and despair,
Though I have never been to
the scrumptious valley fair.

Stories of the turmoils,
Bloodshed and the toils,
Now I can see the sun
rising from horizon of scare.

Lofty and lushly I hear,
Chinar trees sear,
Blood red, mauve, yellow leaves,
allegorical, the bruise heal.

Insurgence has met its expiration,
Reverent, stands the nation,
And now after the tremulous affair
Let's breath in the valley air.

Bostful, the national pride,
Paradoxical waft shall end,
And as a nation, we stand,
To breath in the valley air.

I left my words in a hidden valley
Suppressed and forgotten
Contained inside my head
They were unable to find their way out

I left it there and wandered somewhere far away
I desired something and longed for it
After pursuing it, seemingly I got lost
Not knowing where I wanted to go

I turned back, I found myself back in that valley
Back in that valley where my words lie
It was the words that I hold dearly and cherish thoroughly
What I was looking for was here all along