Some crystals disappear in thin air
as another winding circle opens its root
to be lost forever in the concentric circles of time
as I send flowers of the dead, in honey colored bottles
Aren't this gifts for the 'other' in you?
the 'other' we will never know, yet muse after
muse searches for the song which broke
the silent melancholy of waves and untied
the threads of a mute sky
My gifts have forgotten all the colors
tears of clouds choked the veins of a
rainbow I dreamt last summer , yet
traces of mist cling to my ceilings
revealing brick by brick, a home
I never had
In forgetting lies a home,
In forgetting lies a home,
where the birds fail to fly
after the last sky, and time
like the featherless storm
begs shadows of future, a pause
to sweep me away.
