Saturday, June 12, 2010

turn to dust.

color me black,
 like those 
secrets, which sleeps
 as weeds
 on lips  
of that woman.
     she  walked for ages,
      with a piece of wood,
       searching for a broken cradle,
    And there she stands
       in-between upside down pots
    and wet grasses ,
  to wrap her son's clay. 

        color me yellow,
        like those  
     sun-rays, which settles
        as fires,
      on dreams
       of that man.

    He walked by shores,
    across sands and stones,
   Like a poetry in a beggar's sleep
     Stealing away two orphaned stars,
    And there he stands
 in-between upside down pots
     and the jealous night,
     to wrap his last sleep.

color me concurrently,
  all those
  shades, which snitches,
    as reflections,
 of a rainbow
  in drops.

   we are nothing but
   those drops that run through leaves,
 we stand in a row on the edge,
     and pretend to fall
   a million times,
      while it slowly breezes ,
   before we truly meet the ground
   and turn to dust. 

  In-between upside down pots
and wet grasses.

1 comment:

  1. . they peep precociously from inside you ... the true hues of perception ... you string together notes ... and they sizzle ... like freshly unearthed pearls ... their shells as perfect as the pearls themselves ... in a breeze, in a drop, in a falling leaf ... is a universe ... and it's all yours ... because you deserve it ... mesmerizing ... your words dazzle ...

    - serah