Call him the moon,


I loved him not

For the light he threw,

So gracefully;

But for I knew,

Of the debris,

Lying beneath

The supple ivory rays.



Death of Hope

For as long as that tiny flicker
Of hope shines within,
She would flap her wings,
In the dark,
As if it’s mid-day with an azure blue sky,
Tracing shapes out of the black
Seeing new worlds past the veils of wrecks.
And she would keep flying
Seeming like one with purpose,
Although she sees nothing past
Her little glow of hope.

But when that glow takes up wings,
Flutters out from within her,
And sets fire to itself,
Right before her eyes,
And its ashes embrace her,
Sinking through her skin,
Into her flesh,
Her flight gives in
To the creatures of the dark,
Who pull at her wings,
Drawing her to the cold, hard ground.
Her sight fails
To show her the worlds she built,
Out of the nothingness.

She screeches,
Punching the black veil,
That has formed into a thick wall,
Around her,
Slowly enclosing her.
She wails
For the glimmer of hope to return,
She screams
Attempting to spit out,
The ashes within her
Coughing out blood,
Hoping its taste would leave her.
But she’d rather wail
Scream and struggle,
Knowing it’s all upto no avail,
Than lying still
And feeling the ashes
Mossing around her blood vessels;
Feeling herself dying,
Slowly, within.