Q u i d a m

Receded heart

Blood that rose from silence, fury, love of trap in vintage grief,

Youthful cries— flooded deep within its vault,

I taste the fire again, the same taste when the earlier glean dawn

bid adieu to scarlet witch, hazel eyes bore down, engraved

with deepest moans, no one saw the mournful sanity—

Gripping too hard in the trails, flowers bloom and shine

if you nurture— bright, sprouts proudly in the midst of mudslides

life is a book, with chapters hook— if you ask me to tear one—

I can only shake my head, the chapters are chapped with twilight zones

But what's loving and living without getting knocked out?

Charlie, hold your hands — upper store, you climb high

on the steller rock, it hurts twice when you fell backwards

hurry, hurry — the wind is rolling up!

now only a wound, is open in the dust fall—

Little drops of anguish run together, like one's batting cage

silhouette dissolved in lost hearts, eyelids shut down

with each flicker sound, drowsy, tangled together

forgot bitter taste on the lips, it's calling out

with the sounds of rope,

                 lower nets, under jellyfishes.

. . .

— 7th June, 2023