•°• ✾ •°•

_____________________________
October is calligraphed,
but 11th left me Speechless!
and the last one still echoes in my
Voiceless Voice.

  f    i    n    g    e    r    p    r    i    n    t    s
     t    y    p    i    n    g    h    i    n    t    s

Now i am sensationless ether,
but those pine needles still penetrate
my heart,
like pinpricks on your anaesthetic skin.

Yet, traces of that time are still etched
in dry oxygen of my alveoli,
while, seconds hyperventilate into
immortal centuries.

___________________________________
for a   n   a   n   o   s   e   c   o   n   d

Let me feel that again,
O! Bleed me please!
but let me feel
again
let
me.
_______________________

Footsteps walk towards the same abode,
but it's not Second Home anymore.
Or, it still is!

for cliques and gray cultures,
chronicles and man made sculptures,
for that drenched illiterate poet,
O! let me be Vintage for the Victims
of Vines and Vultures.

I must learn to learn,
for, i shall burn
myself down inbetween the nuances
of our distinction.

Someday

Somewhere

Somehow.

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