I did not notice when all colors were fading into the black backdrop of a pregnant silence till I became a color-blind victim of the helpless sorrow of separation.
Our dialogues turned into my monologues in which I hid my denial and I kept calling out for you, cajoling myself into believing that my own echoes were your answers. I personified every trace of you left in the heart shaped box of my memory, living in a schizophrenic dream in which you descended, every morning, from the mountain of dawn into my sunset soul.
I can't deny the power of my mirage.
I hid your name beneath metaphors and when I complain about the sunlight being too harsh on my eyes, or the noise being too loud for my ears, I'm actually questioning why you left me to this fate in hollow the grave, where lies buried the treasure chest of my love, without leaving a map for someone else to find this heart and breathe into it another soul.
I complain to the rain about your betrayal and it complains to me about the sky that can't bear the weight of clouds in its womb and gives birth to stillborn flashes of lightening that sets ablaze the sylvan of nymphs dancing of the dreamers' palm. I get drenched in these conversations that turn into soliloquies when the clouds part and the sun shines again, confessing the only crime of my sinner heart...
Our dialogues turned into my monologues in which I hid my denial and I kept calling out for you, cajoling myself into believing that my own echoes were your answers. I personified every trace of you left in the heart shaped box of my memory, living in a schizophrenic dream in which you descended, every morning, from the mountain of dawn into my sunset soul.
I can't deny the power of my mirage.
I hid your name beneath metaphors and when I complain about the sunlight being too harsh on my eyes, or the noise being too loud for my ears, I'm actually questioning why you left me to this fate in hollow the grave, where lies buried the treasure chest of my love, without leaving a map for someone else to find this heart and breathe into it another soul.
I complain to the rain about your betrayal and it complains to me about the sky that can't bear the weight of clouds in its womb and gives birth to stillborn flashes of lightening that sets ablaze the sylvan of nymphs dancing of the dreamers' palm. I get drenched in these conversations that turn into soliloquies when the clouds part and the sun shines again, confessing the only crime of my sinner heart...
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