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“Grief can be the garden of compassion. If you keep your heart open through everything, your pain can become your greatest ally in your life's search for love and wisdom” Rumi

Once I roamed in forgotten fields of poppies,
without a metaphor or adjective to
portray sombre sorrows for tomorrow.

In the dilemma of a firework fate,
where happiness is the ultimate sacrifice,
afraid time would leave me behind,
in illustrations of illusion,
I wandered as an invisible image,
searching for the serenity of silence.

Pondering - in times of hunger do you crave for me?

In my state of darkness,
the breeze kissed in a celestial dance,
as a soft guiding gleam appeared,
my lost soul transcended
through a mirage of kingdoms.

Floating free in velvet skies,
ethereal lanterns reflected in
empyrean empathy, illuminating paths,
shimmering through congested clouds.

In every flicker, charcoal shadows,
slowly coloured into marigold tones,
with brushstrokes of amethyst and ruby,
infused with sparks of moonlight.

In their mystical embrace,
feathered whispers weaved
a cloth of compassion,
as mercy poured in
satin blossoms.

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