Long once a saturday noon perished,
relishing forehand the memories piled.
Memories, o’ yes, of serene sights,
catching tail me, the exuberance tight.
chalk-talked we lot of all and everything,
me and this mystic mute beauty-thing.
Revives me of which a serenade,
long back once heard.
Spoke was I only of black,
furrowed rear of my back.
And of the impasse embracing
my sterile desert within.
And of all lies, built upon me,
built within me, that builts me.
Spoke she was of silence,
limpid like a new-born’s smile.
None need to be spoken of
robust truth she told
“Black is other end of white“.
Spoke she as she sow seeds
of hope deep in my arid lands,
making me believe,
watelands are they not.
Paraphrase here, I her promise.
“Rain shall fall. Let it be
and fertile the soil above the seeds.
Stay ground fore and after,
and look upon for thunders,
for it may burn down the twigs.
And look beside for storms,
ever it may uproot the sprigs.
Work instead of impotent prays,
for it may only bring you glory.
Lond ahead may you see a time,
when even gods shall say-
Your lies defended you”
Each Word from her, below and above
every other words sounded silent,
alike the truth she said.
“Lies are other end of truth“.