7 Sep

at the aftermath of the passing rain pursued by an easterly whistling wind

and the accompanying fragrances of creation that bid the sprinkling gods bye-bye

fills my lungs with a heavy gusto of Fortification

whilst the whistling wind comb my scalp with its million finger tips.


and within the hollowed depths of my chesty-chest

a squeaky yearn outstretches feh commune wit yo’

lo to eagerly commune wit you for worse still.


tarry I not to walk away from it all

neither do i want to:

how dare I wonder after your impressions

‘ur illusiveness if not exquisiteness itself; your highness.


myopic i for you are serenity itself

is there a hermitage within the confines

of thine blossom-nous bosom for a wondering soul like monk like i?


Open your gates for me

You whose beginnings are locked away

in a faraway caste-d key kist

And calm my eternal flowing springs

And show me the different out-stretching landscapes.

‘ur person.

whom fortune tellers ordained by the divine forces’ time piece itself.

And that I can know you a little better.

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