color peers through broken glass

Hyacinth garden

If she could,

she would pull on her wings

and fly off with the westerly wind

instead, twilights’ opus

offers chants

of a deadly song

no caress of silken touch,

that never felt like a sigh

of destinies down

millennium of dreams crash in

she is crimson flow

look in her eyes

and see a direction

of the earth shaking

sleepless in relentless night

the echoes fall

feel the grip

of fingers of loves lost passion

in chaos of night

as dawns first color peers through broken glass


bittersweet yearning

tears fall on parchments of love

so many papers

so many tears


it mirror's

a withering

and casts a sleepy eye back

subsequently, swallowing up their world,

swallowing up their light.

Author's Notes/Comments: 
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