Yesterday was dull and morbid
like many a days I should say.
The Day didn’t jump to life and gay,
waited it and died it
in companion with the day before’s
dampness and desolation.
Yesterday was the day I died.
Thirty-past-ten in the dawn, reality
blazed off the little light entangled in
my pale nerves, and confirmed the
I have a lot to tell.
When they cover my lifeless eyes
with wet soil, let me say
these to my love
which still blooms the unintelliglible fire.
Love, forgive me for the words I left unspoken,
for the deeds I forgot is a shame,
and for the words I scribe down
in this damp sorrow dirt swallowing me.
Now words are shy of the courage I show,
the deadman’s courage, useless as always.
Here these words don’t brew the limitless love,
but the words shrunk in moist
gives life to a poetry pregnant with pain.
The burns are evident,
and let me symbolise it to
this time, dull, and heartless,
and the very intention has
spread the ink of despair in this poem.
The lies I told in my stories
to you my love,
of the effervescent passion,
of hues that paved path,
of sweet sights that were horrible,
Oh my blind love,
I have sinned and
I have confessed it to a padre.
My death brings you luck girl.
I have spared my eyes,
fo you to see a new world which
See new things, and learn to hate my world
I choked down in your’s blindness.
Demolish those things I build inside you.
To all these,
I am leaving my eyes which was once myself, for you.
Tomorrow, I will be blind in the afterlife,
an alien amidst all light.
Then, I will be an orphan in this universe,
along with my forgotten world.