With a fresh spill of ink
the pure sheet dresses in
Twisted scribblings.
Some red
some white
each blending in the other
as hues of the evening sky.
A light fragrance
teases my senses.
Driving me into a world
of pretenses.
The dusk follows
a sense of calmess.
Bathing me with bliss
of some unknown essence.
Staring at the two
holding hands
like two parts of a soul.
I wonder if that's what
it looks like.
A word I have never believed
and a word which has
multiple identities.
The ink dried, and
with the blink of an eye
The forever dematerialized.
YOU ARE READING
Poetry Collection
PoetryThere's a dark sea around me and I often get lost in the words it whispers to me, pulling me into it's unmeasurable depth...
