In forgetting lies a home

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, 

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.