I thought once life can be sung, of the sweet years,
wished for dear ones, memories appears
with mortal beings, a mystic shadow
lurks in the dark, and I muse my flukes of scents
in the torn pages.
Life is all about dreams,
dreaming, drinking, sipping
with melancholy, where great winds
blow fair, now and then the waves leash.
Ah! It can be a land of dreams!
Alas! All in deep slumber it seems!
Perhaps, wild bees reel—shadows ceased
where some pages left to be read,
let it be dipped in gleams,
some, buried with no light
like verses of poor little mite.
A mystery box of horror chills,
Our purple hands bruised as fist,
Angels stay hidden with wings,
Knuckles stay white and twist.
Strangled breathe, last knock of lies
Hands stretched out in the sky,
Come to the death guy!
— 23/04/2023
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PoetryFeatured on @WattpadPoetry / 16.04.2023 ❝ sometimes we find the words, yet somewhere they find us, together we dive into the ocean, unknown to the world, unaware of the uncertainty ❞ ━━━━━━━━━━━ n e w poems are always added in the beginning. Q u...
