Echoes in Starry Nights

Love, mon amigo, the shadow of a rose.

Grasp the real thing, you find, It stabs through your soul.

Leaves change colours, But patience, my friend.

Very soon you will find the blankness and regret.

Echoes, echoes, echoes, echoes,

Ringing in my soul, the words of my shadow.

Love's refrain, a haunting call,

In the silence, where memories sprawl.

The ink against yellow sheets

Aubades, to the sky

It turns redder and redder, till of blood loss, you die.

I see not her face, nor body nor soul.

I see blood metamorphosing into prose.

Echoes, echoes, echoes, echoes,

Ringing in my soul, the words of my shadow.

A dance of pain, a silent waltz,

Lost in echoes, where time exalts.

Never the poet, Neither the poem.

Always a writer, in essence, a reader.

Bleeding in rhyme, the vultures of love croon.

Atrocities blooming in the heart of a non-seeker.

Serendipity- I curse thine eyes

Why did you look for something I did not want to find?

Angels dear, are you blind? 

To salt the wounds of a bleeding child.

As if the pain of existing wasn’t enough for a dreamer.

Why am I in love, when all I asked was freedom?

It’s a cat, in a box, In a physicist’s room.

It’s right, it’s wrong, it’s both, that’s true.

Echoes, echoes, echoes, echoes,

Ringing in my soul, the words of my shadow.

Whispers of love, a ghostly choir,

In the abyss, where passions tire.

In love with a body,

Wear off very soon.

In love with a human,

Lingers about, but fades too.

In love with a soul—

Oh—that’s cruel

Ages and ages hence

And it will still haunt you

Oh my eyes, I wish they couldn’t see,

Your soul and its delicate vulnerability.

My heart, so wretched,

I wish it couldn’t feel

The swelling in yours

Aches me.

I wish I wasn’t so young,

I wish I was younger.

To feel so much now,

Why can’t I grow older?

Mistakes, mistakes, not traits,

Of a perfectionist, no way!

Slipped for a second before I knew it,

Mistook your compassion and fell for you.

Sick of loving, sick of love.

Sick of living, sick of life.

Oh my sickness, I sent the doves,

Go away, and cease the strife.