Torn Pieces

Why when I am about finish my masterpiece
By patiently stitching back a torn portrait
One piece dear to me decides to detach?

Is this imperfect masterpiece worthwhile?
Should I throw it away and let it decompose?
Maybe then I can rework on my self-portrait?

Or maybe my energy is just better utilised
In signing songs to travel across the oceans –
Only sung to open the eyelids of free souls?

Maybe there the torn piece might value me?
Maybe then I will reunite with them again?
Yet, I wish the masterpiece finishes now.

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A Masked Mirage

A moment of your time to render
What’s impossible possible,
An ostentatious overlap between
Reality and a masked mirage,
A directionless choice to test
The driver who will win the race,
Despite not possessing a compass,
The impossible opened its doors,
To deny my existence entirely,
To mean nothing in their life,
The tides are turning as Time
Reminds us about infinite possibilities,
A precise reality I am now embracing,
A masked mirage continuously fading,
The beauty will always soar,
And with it will we always live.

Unwarranted Addiction

Predators masked as youthful birds,
Soaring over the wilderness of free souls,
Spreading poison on ripened fruits,
Fragrances delivered for suicidal seduction,
And as you dance to their melodic birdsongs
You get chained to their psychopathic beauty,
An unwanted addiction – unwarranted,
Darkness becomes your smiles,
Ignorance your laughs,
A euphoric moment in a dysphoric life,
And then the mask cracks,
Waiting out the addiction.

Split in Two

I
Outstretching a hand to a falling leaf,
A farewell ritual dancing with the breeze,
Purifying the land for its soft touches,
Commemorating our distant smiles,
And further, further it continues to leave,
So, I chose to quickly pick it up and hold it,
Sending all my warmth to its inner core,
Tending to its many complex arid cracks,
Some were so deep and beyond repair,
And even as close as I can be I am still –
Still unsure of my ability to intervene,
All I can do is allow Time to heal itself.

II
And whilst I dream about a surreal era,
Where cracks flawlessly diffuse forever,
Where I await mine to be softly tended,
Or at least to be acknowledged; at least,
Another decides to ride the whispers
Of a warm wind guiding a silent nomad,
Which sounds so elegantly majestic,
And yet, it leaves behind a heavy mirage,
Silence becomes my natural remedy,
Still unsure of my ability to intervene,
All I can do is allow Time to heal itself.

She is not Strong

She is not strong, she is a weaponised destruction,
Think not of false prophets, but of me reincarnated,
Falter if you must be, or shelter beyond this universe,
The simple truth is just simple, strength beyond beauty,
Before one is eliminated, stand ground and raise above.

No, she is not strong, she is a weaponised destruction,
One that is always replaced, a rather used spare part,
Once blown to bits, evidently a catastrophic entity,
Such a lady is unneeded, your services are denied,
Listen to my reincarnation, think not of false prophets.

The Black Widow

What will you do when you have been –
Captured by a Black Widow,
Believing that she’s your Queen,
Living happily in her silky strings,
Except they are devouring you – ever – so – slowly,
And when you wake up from this magical dream:
(where your heart screams so loud
That you forget to listen to those close to you,
Those that cared for your angelic smile,
Those who will still await your return patiently)
And then you start to struggle your way out,
Not sure whether it is too late or not,
But you do it nonetheless,
To taste freedom once more,
And to her, you are but a useless pawn,
Trapped in her game –
Suddenly, one string snaps,
That is your remedy,
So you continue cutting all your connections with her,
And with each snap she furiously fits uncontrollably,
Because picturing you dissing her royalty is unbearable,
And you finally escape!
So what now?
Will you return to her throne and burn it down?
Or move on to find another royalty?
Or will you forge yourself into a throne-less King?