When you touched
my lips, I knew it was
your desire to try
melting tears.
I let you be part
of my adventure
we were tempted for.
I was that candle
flickering in ecstasy
all day long.
I am running fast.
To where?
I don’t know.
To escape maybe?
From myself or
from them. But
I am running fast.
So I can hide
in the dungeons
of my own caves
or perhaps disappear
under the mounds of
those floating clouds.
He once gave me a
book of gold to be kept
in my treasure chest,
but I ran out of words
of jewels for him.
Crisp mornings of autumn
bring back those memories
of the sins we committed
under the canopies of
some orange, some yellow
dying leaves.
I am deserted flesh
glimpsing through
my window,
waiting to be caressed
by the virgin morning.
I am high on life because
I see the rain dancing and
blink only to see the colors.
When the sun bathes me in its rays,
I feel clean.
Sometimes, moonlight stares
when I am dreaming.
It is a castle of my fantasyland
where I rule to conquer.
Sometimes, I wear my insanity,
sometimes peace-
I have the eyes to love
and a heart to cherish.
It is my choice; this is my madness.
How many beauties have you seen in the fashion they express their love, the way she does;
have you met any?
How many have crossed the bridges to die in the arms of unbreakable passion, the way she escapes;
have you known any?
How many have the audacity to speak their minds and open the chambers of their hearts to the admirer, the way she expresses;
have you found any?
How many have escaped from their rotten self to search for spring, the way she explores;
have you tried any?
How many have decorated their balcony with candles to welcome their lovers, the way she arranges;
have you attended any?
How many have felt the sound of the tender heartbeat on your palms, the way she embraces;
have you touched any?
How many have praised the crown of your kingdom, the way she glorifies;
have you worshipped any?
Alas! you haven’t touched any of these hearts, but only hers.
She is a free bird with the broken wings.
Is she wearing the bangles made of steel or perhaps silk?
We wonder sometimes: Aren’t we all prisoners of some form?
The slaves of our sky?
Is someone else pulling our strings? Is it you? Or is it me? My insecurities?
I don’t know as I am my own master, a companion. Or maybe a destroyer?
My friend; my ego pulls my strings to instigate my intentions.
I am the protagonist and the writer of my story.
It is my show as I am the puppeteer and the puppet.
So, go along! Enjoy the performance.