Mich Wirklich

Wrote this in some 15 minutes,Mich Wirklich is German trans depicting 'Really Me'.If u have the flow your mind actually follows it. Again all i can say is that its a pure thought, an imagination of honesty.

The perplexion of thoughts,
has looped the bereavement.
I sleep close to the walls,
but can't get far enough.
I would want to die,
But i can't, i can't,
For i need to repent the sins.
They are many, too many.
The heart still pumps the blood.
Each passing day it remains red.
But the sins would change.
Like a withered forsaken leaf
that dries under the scorching sun.
I would end in solace.
Anxious and alone somewhere.
Shivering in the thoughts of my past,
hoping to forge the days back
But the truth has taste 'very sour'
It leaves your face with a red scar.

Phobia Báis

Had a nightmare last few days back, one of those haunting ones, i thought if i could heap some words out of it.

All the lonely days perished
In the search of majestic hue.
The darkness hath trapped beneath.
Personified by the enigma of closed doors.
Beyond which lie the redemption
And under which the faded light,
dissipates like an unreachable station.
Afraid to open it at the day break,
they peep through the tiny hole
of the eroded wooden chunk.
studded on the debris, the house lay.

Long long ago in the redwoods,
their anestors lay silenced and bloodless.
Who once fought the desert and the rain.
Braved the wind and the gruelling waves.
Their hirarchy passed to the land of darkness.
The land of the unknown, where no beast groan.
Their destiny rests on the holy drops,
Quarantined in the depth of hearts unknown.
That they would search for ages to come.
For which they fight the hand of almighty.
In preserving the hue, rest our dreams.
On top of which we rest our heels.
But a day they would reach the proximity
The day that mankind fears,
they would challenge the ETERNITY.

Episolarity

Here is the previous and the first literary composition of Epi series.


My darkness, my core, my unopened eyes,
I write you this on a sheet of dark matter
In a burst of electromagnetic radiation.
Forgive my poor script but I am cramped and cumbersome
On the surface of this neutron star.
Time is dragged down into lethargy
And my patience is compressed to a painful disc of anxiety.
The time is not yet right.
Time is not yet right.
I mark the moments in prison,
My anvil, my rock, my darkened lighthouse.
The moments collect on my chest, my eyes.
They are tiny, Dense.
Your rescue is distant as a star.
But am I not your magnet, your charm, your strange hero?
I will send this on the next rotation.
It is so hard to move.