- in the name of Allah -


Deathbed of a poet


solemn and silent, the wind blows away the leaves and soil, finding in its path a fading vision no longer defiant. theres no struggle, no need to desist, the bodys decayed and the souls in a place of no peace, a place without rest. inanimate imaginings can walk through walls but cant see past the tips of their fingers, right where the blame would fall if they stopped to look only inside. theres quite a bit of longing for the greater and unbound, unfortunately the time for it isnt now and so it becomes an enemy in disguise as a friend or spy. thinking is an abyss for those who carry its torch to the farthest and most dimly lit part of its cave, anyone who goes in just might need another to reach closer and pull them back if they dare to try and save. stop and go, you never know when life's light turns green or red, never know when its finally all done and said until the covers laid over the head and over the eyes, shutting out the questions and ignoring the lies, fates finally been found- a concrete slab of a poet's deathbed.