As old and magnificent as a banyan tree,
I sat by the unearthed curved roots,
Eastern celestial hand holding its leaves,
While the other is wrapped around its bark,
A dance ceremony to hear its whispers,
Symbiotically shared with soothing birdsongs,
Angelic beings roaming to find harmony,
However, a green leaf will soon depart,
And along with it will the hanging lanterns fade,
Except, if you truly saw the heart of the tree,
And the whispers it wrote on the walls of
Imperial palaces to root their thrones,
Then you will realise the hope in igniting
Your heart to beat melodiously once more,
Because there is no reason to pause a life,
Like birds, constantly ascending the heavens,
And so, I must relay its whispers to another,
But within it you shall always be engraved.
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?
The one in a billion being brought to light
In a dark era where many bark and bite,
And a passer-by noted the infringement
Of the laws in a dystopian society,
And he saw the predators hunting the wounded angel,
Now that Time has shown a different face
Discharging electrical shocks that shocked his mind beyond repair,
And he tried to stand firm against dust storms
Crippling the minds of pure beings,
She was indeed falsely accused, involuntarily resurrected,
And I have sworn to evacuate this polluted era
Such that she may feel alive, at least once, by me,
An objective and a burden I carry until I succeed,
For she is one in a billion brought to light in a dark era.
The heart is agonised as it beats for its angel,
Turning right in a reverse motion outwards,
Disoriented as if a newborn yearning for warmth,
Love and compassion are its compass,
Faintly immersing its emotions calling for hers’,
An artist is thriving,
In a melodic continuity,
For every beat is worth billions of stars,
But struggling to beat less intensely,
So as to not give hints to by-passers,
But holds for few seconds and skips beats,
Out on long distances they hold onto threads,
Drums of passion hammering a rhythmic cry,
On the dancing stage their performance ignites,
And as it walks towards closed arms,
She glimpses his sudden jump and opens,
And he lets go.
Send me towards a heavenly realm,
Where I can dance to your whispers,
Dazzle me with your celestial figure,
And stop the world beating its heart,
Always keep me by your adorable side,
And I will paint you a fabulous portrait,
Look into my eyes and let me go crazy,
Order your soul to merge into mine,
Let us sing out loud my angelic being.
An opportunity might arise in a billionth of a second,
Where he will be able to live in a billion-star hotel,
So, let him choose it without second thoughts,
And with all his might, let him make it happen,
Because that is his celestial angel awaiting.
I know not of such comparable beauty,
But as she descends and he ascends,
The two entities merge into an abstract era,
Unspoken of. Faceless. Emotionless. Timeless.
Where the clock tick-tocks through infinity: Big Bang!
And then the cries of Life bring joy to them,
Emerging from the depths of a billion-star hotel,
So, live on, live there, and live above, my love.
Has the moon chosen a dripping honey collected
In the Arabian valleys to bless tribal silhouettes?
Or have I seen another era that commemorates
The magical ritual in waging beauty?
And as you dance your words through thin air,
The nightingale visits my camping site to plant
Its smiles into my ears, and I devise a choreograph
For the honey who ascended the heavens
To become an angelic free soul.