Paper Rose

I was beside you today, wrapped my arms around your image in my mind, spoke to your silhouette, in an abstract, bright corner of my thoughts. Our skins were so close to each other.
 
I could smell your words, I could hear you smile, I could see the deepest desires dribble down those eyes like tears from the harshest pains and best elation.
 
I wanted to hide those eyes in my hands, protect them, preserve them. I wanted to kiss those lips, be one with them, like immiscible spirits losing themselves in a oneness.
 
But somewhere, this dream was brittle, like petals of a dead flower. I found the distance between us, it was a gaping chasm, a gorge pitted with the rotting cadavers of hopes not yet dead.
 
Why could not I touch you even when our skins were so close, why could not I see your words fill my eyes, like the morning light in a valley. Why do I see you floating away like a paper boat in drying stream.
 
Why cannot you stay a bit longer, till I have filled my breath with your image, my eyes with your hazy colours. I shall not persist beyond that, I shall then become one with you, in your heart in your soul.
 
I search for you in my prayers, in my recluse, like vestiges of my past, like dusty old dreams. But you are not there. Lost somewhere in my simpleton mind, but I know you are close, like the early morning glow, like the warmth on a winter's day. I know you are there, I know you shall come.

Darkened Glasses

Look, there, through the darkened glasses beclouding the eyes, you will see lights fading slowly. Slowly seeping out of your eyes like brine from an old memory, like breeze through the hollows of a dead tree. So slowly, so tenderly, it feels like the pain would never end. But there is this deep, entrenched, engaging, enticing pleasure in this slow, tender, gradual, egression, in this tip toing of the lights to freedom.
 
Look there, near the horizon, the immiscible lights dissolving into one another, just before they fade out of the night sky, leaving nothing but dark and dense thoughts floating about in the starlit empty minds.
 
The lights look strange through the darkened glasses, like synesthetic manic eyes, changing colours in the mind. But these colours die out soon, in those empty minds; they slowly turn grey, and then disappear.
 
They leave behind dry, glassy eyes flickering like a dim flame, searching the many colours of the cavorting lights near the horizon and in the starlit minds of thoughtless creatures, under thoughtless skies.
 
The nights are starlit, dark, and dense. They are thoughtless and manic. Yet they are calm, like the lights through the darkened glasses. But these darkened glasses trouble the simpleton eyes.
 
The darkened glasses make the eyes look hard for manic minds floating around. The darkened glasses are liars. They hide the thoughtless empty minds in the dark; they befog the dead hopes under the starry skies. Yet you look through the darkened glasses all night long.
 
Look now, the brightening horizon, it is daybreak, and it is the demise of the empty minds at the altar of a ruthless, hopeful morning. The cavorting lights are back effacing the thoughtless skies, and the manic nights.
 
The darkened glasses are shimmering again, glowing in the brightness of the thoughtful, hopeful minds of the day, under brilliant skies, and over the cadavers of the night. Yes! The night died again, calmly, softly.