I feel the weight of summer
arching my back
with droplets of its love.
My t-shirts hate summer,
It makes them nauseous.
The Night burns in dark,
the stars left us long ago.
It is they who hid the warm winds
in unseen alleys of the sky.
I wait for an answer that never
comes.
I wait for a voice never heard.
The night silently leaves.
This vengeful sky is becoming darker
for your defeat brews it more
breathe in this air
let it turn to a slow poison
let it remind you
of the hubris, you held to
let it show you the ashes
of your victories
for when the time comes,
just breathe out and destroy.
It is still cold
than our bare blanket-wrapped bodies can bear anyhow,
shall we cuddle and create the warmth of the sun?
a breeze of guilt,
smells like remorse
in the morning
the descending fog camouflages
the slaying of the whispers
in a city this big,
everybody is a slave
skies watch patiently
to choose their meals:
the unfortunate and weaklings.
they are all up from sleep:
nature’s most intelligent creature.
the madness shall now float.
lying on a hammock
in the woods nearby the fireplace.
with a book in my hand
and a dog in the lap.
I decide to look up
at the bluish adobe of gods
which meets
the cataclysmic vegetation
of the sky touching trees.
I sigh a faint prayer,
for it all makes sense now.
I see our treaded existences
floating in the cosmic river
destined to confluence in the sea of divinity.
this raging mind,
the irresistible heart,
and this thirst driven soul
are calmed in the warm
belly of this mystic sea.
We shall be reborn again
as children with a pure heart and soul
on a land far away from shores of reality
where materialism ceased to exist
and peace of mind is felt
even in the markings of the tiny steps
we leave behind.
It ain’t a garden
full of roses.
It ain’t an ocean
with humming shores.
It ain’t a waterfall
with raging water.
It ain’t a sky
bleeding crimson.
but it is
a crashing spaceship
manually over-ridden.
a pit of lava,
with miseries of past.
a tornado
engulfing cities.
a subtle rain
entangled with petrichor.
my heart is just a dungeon
with a beautifully dead princess.
stuck in gravity, space
and unwanted timelines
but still breathing the blur,
still living the dream
an oceanless shore
breathes moist vapors
and dreams of voiceless tides.
The beach is now a graveyard;
islands are the tombstones
white condolence flowers:
albatrosses that flew too high.
I sometimes feel sorry
for the rivers at the estuary.
now adjusted to a silence.
Writings to Heaven 