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.

A Spontaneous Magical Faerie

Your smile warms my heart,
Your thought eases my breaths,
Your eye ignites my universe.

An art to my grey world,
A song to my silent nights,
A compass to my lost days.

The youth to my aging soul,
The end to my previous life,
The beginning to my next one.

Rhythmic Beings

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’,
Pitch perfect,
An artist is thriving,
In a melodic continuity,
Towards infinity,
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.

Read Between the Lines

A chronicler dwells in clear waters,
Just on the outskirts of a red post,
The prison, to which many others
Have escaped, is now left behind
To crumble before emerald trees,
Maps drawn to find this treasure,
But a compass might fail to work
Over here next to the nine paths,
The legend might just be a myth,
But to me, you only have to heed,
There is this man who disappeared
Behind the shadows of two sisters
That resided the crumbling prison,
So, avoid the chronicler that dwells
In clear waters for your own sake,
Find those who escaped and set
Them free from this awfully chaotic
World that is deemed to fall in the
Wrong hands like that of the sisters,
But love the rituals in the legend,
Sketched out of suns and moons,
Sending the star back to the post.

Ricochet My Love

The compass has shown a polar
Attraction and the eyes deceived
Me with a dazzling beauty as she
Lets the heart swim in endless
Oceans as the mind tries to listens
To an erudite conversation, though,
A foreigner that ignites my circle of
Life and rewinds the ageing self.
I miss her. All of her. Her all.
An infinite chain chained beyond
Infinity to never be unchained,
You could call it coincidence,
Or fate, or even a universal
Language coded as one of the
Laws of attraction to attract
Entities deemed to always repel.

Sigh.

A nature’s lesson for the wise man,
An educational essay about the
Damp soil’s ability to attract the
Roots of all beauty. Beauty – to her
And of her – accumulates in the
Eyes of my compass, the one to
Tests the maps of minds and the
Directions of hearts while the souls
Intertwine to form a melody to be
Sung by our garden’s nightingales;
A ritual in broad daylight for our
Eyes to see and never be deceived,
Again – I never spoke to her until
Today, until the length of this
Entry: an entry that doubts the
Ability of words to knock on the
Doors of her elegant, soft heart.

Sigh.