a collision
sans noise.
a rupture of tissues
sewn together
patterned and prim
neat.leveled.
measured and poured.
mixed with the finest of colours.
enhanced with liquor and art.
a hand that summons.
and talks to me.
pulling out all those dreams
gathering the reds
sifting through the blacks
i came across a cloth.
an inch long.
blue and white and sad and old.
..those were the colours he had worn
tortoise shell glasses
and lengths of white.
and a hoarse laughter
tinged with gold.
seeking my eyes with his own
brown.tiny.liquid and old
silent smiles and confidences.
reaching out with all his strength
to capture the essence of perfection.
wizened.desperate.wrinkled and old.
a broken wing.a bleeding wound
white coloured canvas;
flesh coloured mound
i never will know
the sweet-soft sound.
and the mystery of death and of stories retold.
the psalms of silence.
bronze figurines in snow.
and of dreams immortal
that have ceased to flow.
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