Poezja

let me explore what’s sitting there at the end of us:

an investigation of these sullen walls
which hangs tentatively
between space and time.
a mere memory that still remain recognizable as it is,
frozen mental pictures stripped to its barest bones,
clings on to the last moments of its previous sentiments
against the overwhelming emptiness of your heart,
these images are far from a barren desert.
utterly, it is this inaudible and unnerving absence of your insensitivity
the bygone spirit seeped from a vacuous core
that blends in a new heightened relevance
to these singing, screaming and chanting
splashed riddled colors of black, layers and layers of tears
that would have previously gone unnoticed.
where have you been to?
what were you searching for?

now, can I turn on the lights and try to look what is left behind?
by many self induced pains written on scraped interiors.
silhouettes of hopes, unfinished ornaments and dangling hymns
turned into ghostly reminders of what it used to be.