Awaiting Her Transformation

Worn out from the
Remnants of natives,
Here I lie atop the
Graves of ancient civilisations,
Cultivating my heart for
A well-choreographed dance,
A birdsong making its way
Towards the doors of heaven,
And there I meet her, an
Exotic figurine, my stellar angel.
Passing through the realms of
Humanity day and night,
Beams of halo surrounding
The inner core of humanity,
To relieve the slaves from their
Eminent fate of bottomless pits,
And to revive the smiles of a forlorn
Youth deemed to be among the forgotten,
So, here I delve into her inner cave
Protected from the creeping eyes of others,
And I see, and I hear, and I touch,
As I explore her caged emotions,
So please, let them out, O stellar angel,
And let me absorb your enraging tears,
For as long as the heart beats and the lungs breathe,
I will protect you as you await your transformation.

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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.

The Secret Garden

This is a story about our encounter:
A secret bestowed upon a garden
By the keepers of a magical town,
Centred within Gaelic wilderness,
Frivolous birds briskly fly their wings
Into the flowers of a peaceful summer,
We become trees: young and wise,
Organic leaves delineating our soul,
Signs of nature pulling us here,
A nest for storytellers, a sanctuary so
Sacred till the last sip of a teapot,
Brewed within earthly volcanic
Waters to be consumed by many
Celestial souls of serene beings,
The story tells of an enigmatic
Inscription well-preserved within
Its silent walls and cushioned floors,
Within its dim lights and fragrant
Candles, within the cheerful friends
And the veiled whispering couples,
The story discloses to the passers-by
The will to dance a tribal ritual
Energised by the rare melodic aether,
Strings of a golden harp revealing
The vivid colours of this garden,
The story now flicks to a different
Chapter as the door cracks open
And the chimes of our steps reach
This realm’s magnificent keepers,
The same ones who forged this
Hideout for us to share something,
So, relax, take a sip, and enter the story.

Two Sides of the Same War

The space is spilling its own secrets,
But a void is trying to interrupt the
Communications, and a wooden door
Was opened, I heard it myself, stars
Running through it as if horses or
Soldiers or freedom fighters, or waves
Upon waves of nature’s way to show
A peaceful movement, and there –
There! A shooting star leading the
Resistance against all of the void,
And the horns of battle have been
Blown, and now, stars clash against
Blackness somewhere into the space,
The sky starts to be filled with fog,
Obscuring the battlefield, everything
Is now cloudy, but I can feel the stars
Are starting to diminish – our poor
Sky is gathering their dust and is
Now full of tears, we are getting
Drenched by their sorrow while
Both space and void sit back on
Their comfy chairs shaking hands
After all pawns gone: checkmated.

Mirrors in my Inner Core

I shall find my mirroring windows,
And glance outside my inner core,
The balcony doors will be opened,
And I shall invite her to a nice play,
A performance about my dance,
Perfected by her long crimson dress,
Elegance mirrored in her glorious
Eyes that only stares at my dance,
Which was choreographed for her
Soft ruby lips and her winged hands,
Fly higher than the closing curtains,
Pluck out your lilies and my roses,
And disperse them around us like
A circle where we can dance under
This starry night reflected through
Those mirroring windows, and so,
Allow me to grab your adventurous
Body and commence another dance.

Squeaking Lions

The lions of today’s news
Grew long scorpion tails,
A hybrid found in deserts
Away from vibrant oases:
Fresh beginnings for the
Lost animals panting on
The doors of burnt death,
Still, the deformed hybrids
Will try to be on headlines,
Suffocating their own arid
Lands until shades of red
Fill the elemental sources
Of life to water our eyes,
Their incompleteness is
The truthful buried acts
Of masking themselves
Behind defective faces,
And what we see is a
Black flag and squeaks
Uniformly produced in
Studios of modern TV
Series commercialised
At the expenses of our
Young innocent souls,
And while they dance on
Our shattered dreams,
We have to break those
Masks of the so-called
Lions and snap their
Ugly long scorpion tails.