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His dry lips are smiling,
I see life in those eyes;
that died long ago
His vocals, always lying
Now talks about the truth of ages;
advice for times to go.

He is in joy;
This man who suffered alive,
Happily follows death's ploy.
As if his soul is gonna revive.

This man is not strange,
A profound reason, in his smile.
He will now meet her, of his age,
Whose demise, he rejected in denial.

How cruel she was
She left him in hurry;
Unable to mend death's laws,
Her hopes, he could only bury.
Dancing in the attic,
I hide from the Passerby,
Confronting their eyes—
Traumatic.
Listen to the words I try to imply.

These beings mean no harm,
To me, they seem strange.
As they embezzle in my charm,
All I see them as, deranged.
This person sees people from above,
The attic is his habitat
1 4 3,
A code, lovers lived by.
One that never came to me
Something I could never be.

8 letters, just 8! My darling!
I couldn't hate it more,
How inefficient must one be
To use 8 letters 1-4-3,

This enlightenment I desire,
Wouldn't suffice words so short,
I shall spend 8 novels and me, entire,
Just to moor my boat on your port.

And then the world could be,
You, me and 8 letters in 1-4-3
You were like the moon to me,
Always far from my reach
Only to be adored by my sight.
Always hoped you for mine to be
Even prayed for you with all my might.

Always craved to get a glimpse of you
Always felt captivated by the light of you
Without you I felt like I lost my light
As you were the one to light my dark pit of sorrow

You made me want to reach the height
You were the one I didn’t want anyone to borrow
For you were the one without whom my sky felt hollow

I liked the phases you displayed
Even liked the spots you had
For they showed the beauty of being tainted
Just wanting to hold you made me glad
Yet beyond my reach
Only to be adored by my sight.
She was like the moon,
Far, far away.


This was the first poem I ever wrote.
Oh the day when the sun hid,
Darkness rose, dancing in gloom
The leaves and flowers, are shed
Black roses had begun to bloom.

The Sun, high and bright,
Was not seen since the day.
Dweller of solar light,
Prepared sacrifices to pray.

But nil response they got,
And generations went by.
The youngster all forgot,
The ball of hope, above & high.

The sun was a forgotten tale,
None awaited his arrival.
Who still desired the scorching gale,
Were fanatics, in denial.
The "Sun" was gone,
A reign of the sky,
Ink-stained feathers—
Scavenger of the lost,
Willing to die.

Blends with the ******,
Identical to all.
Unfurls, beats harder—
The crow begins to fall.

A shadow chasing light,
His nest embraced another—
Not beneath the ink-ish night,
But one that rose from dead anther.

Yet the curse of a crow,
Bearer of omens, fell again.
This time, he couldn't throw—
The wound cut deeper,
The pain remained.

His lullaby, abuse—
His voice, a crash.
Cries rang through the void,
Silencing the bones, thrashed.
People claim to be,
Something of dreams.
They fail to notice me,
Filling my memory's reams.

I was there, standing still,
Your presence remained, unaware;
Moving your lips, with no will,
Harsh words came out, didn't care.

You left the site,
Slamming the door.
In "café delight"
Ending our lore.

I stood there, across the door,  
Watching you leave once more.  
My flowers lay upon the ground,  
Yet you left without a sound.

You claimed to be searching,
Seeking for a lovely shard
You failed to notice me, lurking,
With Lamprocapnos in my yard.

And I remained,
Standing like a stand,
When we no longer sustained
Also when started to expand.
It's a story one didn't care about.
I narrated the plot, to an uninterested crowd.
'cause people claim to be,
Something of dreams
And fail to notice me.
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