Eyes full of moon, I write his name; with glorious sense of yearning, at night I am discontent with the world; since first hearing its voice, its song, I weep. Wrap your loneliness around me; from umber to pink, spring blossoms, come see. I find that it is lips that… Read more“Muted hues and shades of Romanticism”
Month: March 2022
Countering blow in the face of bedlam and chaos
Rolling fog knows not of resistance; low lying as it is, it can’t possibly perceive the intention of ravens soaring through its swirling waves— inquisitively bobbing and hoping to probe into matters before leaping upward through the misty air. It is essential to remember how cold winter can be,… Read more“Countering blow in the face of bedlam and chaos”
Across the fields or alone or amidst the chaos
It’s easier to be dumb, to be deaf and blind; in this age of darkness where freedom no longer breathes, where roses red forget what it’s like to bloom and bloom so, riotously— nothing else breaks you the way war does. Come speak your truth, come do so, freely; there… Read more“Across the fields or alone or amidst the chaos”
Do we truly live the lives we’d sought?
A cloche hat, preferably beige and made of a wooden felt, or perhaps a beret round and soft to be worn like a true Parisian, no matter which one it is, they allow us to mimic classic eras, evoking pleasure first, then intrigue, and later a willingness on our part… Read more“Do we truly live the lives we’d sought?”
I didn’t notice colour or creed only prayer for peace
The blood oranges are no longer crying; split into partial fractions, they try instead to heal with taste— why can’t it be the same with people? I didn’t notice colour or creed only prayer for peace sounding from a terrace garden, noticed only young children aged eight playing amid the… Read more“I didn’t notice colour or creed only prayer for peace”
The hum of the city
The early morning is a palette of bold; sherbet orange singing upon the rooftop, so as to make a statement, here is the dominion of birds, of wintry mist, and all things that represent the hues of the world; but my heart is heavy. I cannot write of sugary love;… Read more“The hum of the city”