Never fall for cosmic essence,
dwell too long in material desert.
Believe in seismic waves—
yet doubt the soul’s eternal whispers?

Where no star remains,
a parallel twin earth strains.
The universe threads
through each breath of  mystical souls—

Yet it is  Maya opal shimmering ,
or only philosophy?—
or truth

Oblation for love,
but it's unbearable consecration,
It’s not an altar
when it takes everything
you desired.

For chess’s dark or white piece—
why must it wound another’s peace?
For voids, no creation is needed;
emptiness speaks instead.

For sun’s warmth, so like life,
why must it burn the crescent moon at night?
Now imbalance grips too tight—
two halves never sealed in silence.
The dark embraced with resilience

Arsenic never drains,
it lingers in daily veins.
Foxglove controls the beats,
Hemlock never waits—
its bitter acceptance remains

Dwelling in ***** poppy dreams,
while Mandrake madness screams.

For willow’s bark, craving lavender’s gold,
get Belladonna's ruins—lethal and cold.

Why forgive,
yet never forgiven?
Guilty—but my mistakes
Burn like oranges in my scent,


No reversal fate to heal
In yin and yang entangled ,
Only  closing eye
and stillness—
all sea turned dry

Moonstone Illusion

It’s Opal’s illusion light,
where Onyx wounds bleed Ruby-bright.
Emerald memory keeps dwelling,
Sapphire silence—endlessly telling.

Where is the beloved found?
Only in Moonstone’s fragile sound,
and Topaz fades from the skies,
pearl's beauty slowly dies.

Sepia filled with nostalgia,
vermilion sacred as life.
Is love worth the roselet breath,
where pearl-ivory turns to sacrifice?

For amber’s warmth, its fleeting feel,
Why wager on indigo’s mystic solace?

It’s a burial ground,
Spirits all around,
From doll to the old,
Lie secrets untold

The  Reaper sighing
  Our final foretelling ,
Where the black clock chimes,
At the end where memory  lies.