At the end of the Poems


At the shore of the silent syllable
Over the merciless beauty of creeks
The summit of the skies

Who will ever know, how much we loved
Our traceless ethereal steps of language-trance?
It was a ruthless kingdom then
Where we abandoned our souls alone with our breath

In a lifetime of solitude, authorhood
In the last peculiar resistance of our downcast sides
At the end of poems, what did we stand for?

I threw myself at her frigid feet
To swallow Vocabulary, honest and brutal
Like never before, as if for the very first & last time

The picture remains, before the dream and after
At the bottom of this emotive declaration
There is not my signature, only the invisible
Trace that I was there, my quantum bias
Of what perhaps I was, at some other time
Relativity in a poet’s frame

How I loved, how I prayed,
Where I placed my trust
What metaphors made me smile
And what ironies brought the tears

And all those little choices I got to make
And to hold her frigidness near my heart
As it will slow down the beat but never cease,
Until immortality must free me from the chains

Evolution made me weak
I grew to be a virgin of the cerulean Earth
In strange company of my honest words.



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