sweet lightening, bold moves, one of tenderness and the other inhumane; the sun a tongue of the buried stars, of the inconsolable spirits, of the inexpressible love, of the humming springs. lost is life in itself too, lost it is too in all things second. where the sun speaks, the earth freezes; harmonium aches and bitter syrups.

and the moon is a spectre of all the things unsaid; of the womb's hold, of the cherished braille, of the floral pebbles and of coffee stitches. words sting the throat buried in the oxygen alive, and there they rot under many others divinely killed. hormone hurt, skin rot, pleasant pulse and morbid heart; life a game of multiple deaths, death of reality a wave of an ocean fantastical.

wars of touch, minds held imprisoned within arm's length, exiled planets; universe a blank note. oceans of guavas, secrets of the fallen hearts; the breeze of early winter, the wounds of the last war. the jaggery of touches, the smell of musk; what remains is dust and the echoes of fingertips.

in the present of games and fame and razors of diamonds and flames, humanity has lost its blood in the seas and its bones in the avalanches of grief. what we kill, we bury; but our minds and our acts we let rot in our bodies. like the sky, we conceal the darkness for temporary sunshine. similar to the roof above, we keep the truth a secret and hold the lies like a bouquet of honour.

#adropofhumanity