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Forest of Glimmering Lights
The travel of lights is intercepted by opaque bodies, for long. Here is the land of greyish black, as colours have no chance to be reflected back, to be wondered in an endless visit of the shadows.
The joyous song of the birds sounds close like a funeral hymn, poignant heartening trying to lift up a dying soul. The vivid flowers around the dense bushes scatter more like achromatic bouquets of a requiem.
This is not a death scene, unless the earth stop rotating around its axis, where all ticks of time end.
With wide eyes open, the pools of glimmering lights can be sensed. In doubtful corner, it is just another call to be answered, to keep them alight until the search reaches its destiny in this promise land, the time where all the shades are illuminated by the waterfall of bright sunshine, through the blue window of the sky. One day, if it may.
Fireflies wing their ways around in this forest.
Thirst : On The Soil of Motherland
…
For the sky’s vacuous infinite air, thirsty we are of the earth.
To the ground, by gravity.
The body rests in touch with intimate grassy land, senses the rough familiar surface where once the first step ever posed. By every scent of the blossoming flowers, the kingdom of nature flushes the olfactory sensation, showers the soul of all children of the world with the holy fragrance.
On the comfort of gentle leaves, morning mist turns into dripping dews, drops of moisture refreshes every drained weary muscles, in its purity, in its delicacy.
On the soil of motherland, a sanctification for the wings.
Hollow To Ride
H
…
The sun’s rays have elapsed, to the deep black of nighttime we jump in.
The flicker is fading away, and we lay on the slumbering breath of the universe, letting the breeze washes away the dirt and dust on the body, brushing up the sweaty skin.
In the solace of quiet pitch dark eventide, we play the music of the heart, listening to shy pumping beats barely audible in the crowd. This chance, under sympathy of liberating open vault of dreamland, we sway the chords, modulate the pitches, resonate louder as may never.
Befriended with the absence, so we fly, floating on the hollow bed of playful sky, visiting the drifting stars we casted the other time, mapping some more to surf with.
“ …sweet dream! ”
Gaze Through The Inky Sky
It is starless; it is moonless, at times. No detour, only destiny to collide.
Grope to the days, stumble and fall to the ground, crawl with bruises and cuts through the skin to the flesh. Never been promised any painless escapade, like an arrow has been released from the bow piercing through the heart, like the fall to the love, a call to linger.
In the fullness of the time is the beauty. So, come on, get up and get down with this cold grail. Brush away the shady heaven, gazing through the inky sky.
In the fullness of the time is the beauty. So, come on, get up and get down with this cold grail. Brush away the dense of shady heaven, gazing through the inky sky.
A Distant Symphony
Untouchable, such inviting persona travels in the air.
The melodies resonate, the captivating senses flow through the eardrum seeping down to the heart and soul, drive a yearning for warm unordinary never known contentment. It is a sound of haunting beauty, a music that plays intriguing arrangement, as the rest in ledger lines is just a bait teases to the next verses, as the hurting dissonant chords compose the layers so rich to burst into eclectic timbres.
Now, closer we sense the intimate presence, allows humming along the notes. Still, it can never be fully embraced.
It is not an absolute offer of destiny, might be ignored, but too strong to be silenced; a distant symphony.