Away, you have never been...
I saw my premises;
in greens and blues,
in whites and indigos
blend, as I buried my eyes
deep in my sleeping pillow.
Closer bloods and distant bonds
then said,' we are nearly away'.
In hat sinless promenades
were my lonely likes
and those little killing duties.
And they were going places
in search of me.
Walking past that timeless recess,
I met a few of my playful days.
They said, in hat passing glee,
'Away! you have never been'.
Wet and stuttered, I walked.
Not too far, still beyond,
like severed loves with eyes
merged in each other's.
A season was there
in her last legs.
Shedding flowers all over
and shooting even twigs
with late buds,
she was hopping dales,
wishing away her floral fantasy.
Her way wound. Her robe,
dew-frilled, evenly washed
bowers and groves, sun-beaded.
Nowhere I have found
their resemblance all these way.
Awoke, now, with all my likes,
I shuttle my senses to places
to feel such a passing glee;
'Away! you have never been'.
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A Night of This Season
These nights are brighter like butterflies
Never are they cool, nor quite either.
They go tapping and beating
in hearts and thoughts alike.
Dreams are longer, sleep shorter,
little hours are still less than ever.
I leave little unseen, for
this is His Kind December.
what I find this night is a collage
that daubs me life-size in filaments.
I see me move and stay, fade and falter,
sink and surface like an airborne feather.
And I am but a night of this season.
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