Friday, 18 December 2015

The beauty
All the beauty in the top
I don't mean the heaven
Nor the fire color in the hell
No..
It's softer
The top..
Where the horizon shades us
And the cloud attaches in deadwood
Then turns into thread
dangling from the bride's dress

At the top also,
Was your face
Tired.. and dispersed
Like a sick carnation flower,
It dangled to me
Then like a birthday candle
Glowed and flied
To the top,
Your features dilated away
Where is nothing,
except the circumambulate in the light

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