That soothing touch of the night cannot revive me.
Its silence, riding on the pleasant wind
or its dark shroud, hiding my sorrows for the rain
can no more imbue me with the light of creation.
What else is more unique to humankind alone?
How else can I justify my blessed breaths?


This hazy roller coaster ride, the one
we so lovingly plan ahead in time,
without knowing which way is the next turn –
up or down, how sharp to the left or right,
emboldens us to call those rare few without plans
as outcasts for not yielding to the perceived norms.


And lo, still I write, though since dawn I was
bleeding to death on the red plains of Mars,
with the dusk She rose like the rising sun,
halfway to Venus my spirit returned!
Is it not the way true love should feel like,
the more one lives, the less the other dies?



4 thoughts on “She Rose

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