A touch of death,
Specimen in the back shed,
Joggers on the streets.
Seizures of cursed withering adolescents who ate the sweet pomegranate
of lust and *******,
And never came home.
Sirens at the sybaritic streamlet,
Swashbuckling seventeens and greed of fanciful adventure.
The young rebellious nature
of hopes and aspirations.
The harvester, the hunchbacked prince, the harrowing keeper of time,
Creeps like the night,
Like the stains of black ink that scurry and watch,
Who spy for the other-mother.
The exquisite expectation of an oncoming assassination,
Unsuccessful, beaten, and purged.
Burried in the soft silence of the hushing leaves,
In the swaying trees,
As the fatuous breeze follows aimlessly,
At the ankles of its maker.
The exhaustion of the tangerine technician,
At his mercury writing desk,
Pondering if he begs for the inspiration of the raven, to the very extent it drives him mad,
What is the difference?
Assembly lines, employing those who they despise.
The last humans left scoar the barren dust storm that was once the azure bliss of the promised land.
Do not ask the doctor for answers,
Simply receive his remedy and swallow.
This is how it has always been.

We were in love since our seventeens
Got married secretly at our twenty fours
And our children left us alone at our Fourties
Now we still have each other at seventies.

Let our heavenly home would get filled
With the gallery of our own memories
Let me to bring us a pen drive and
Get it field with the sweet series of our past.

Let the keys of the piano get played
On it's own for a lovely duet on our floor
Let the scars on the walls of our hearts
Go away with every blink in our eyes.

We would hangout with a long drive
And halt the car in front of library
You read to me the love novels then
Travel back together with words.
            
Watch a romantic movie in the theatre,
Have a cup of tea with the saffron suns,
Our love never fades as the count of stars.
Our transparency of Glass stays in still.

Let the children of ours, move off from
Us, no need of them, becoz we are there for us.
And let me bring a basket of roses
To accompany the candled dinner light.

Then let me write to you the sorry and love
You notes,if you're ever upset of me.
Let the strings of the guitar vibrate
To reply to our songs singing with mild sad.

But never and ever shed your beads of
Blood from your eyes for our gone children.
I will be there for you until death.