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Poem

Once upon a time, 
when juliet was a jewel 
of psychedelic phrases ~ 
steering rubies of romance 
to distant shores, 
where sapphire seafoam 
had never kissed the silence of sands ~ 
there blossomed an ode, 
lingering beneath cocktail chandeliers,
scripting a tragedy 
where the calligrapher of fate 
lost his embellished quill of ' f o r e v e r s '
    I was born to witness the violins of fall ~ 
when lovers became nothing more than 
  two dragon fruit diamonds, drifting apart 
as destiny drives constellations in castaway. 

They say, 
with fingers stretching across 
the ivory-iris spheres of midnight sky, 
and apple-tart sunsets condensed through ~ 
we whirl in celestial chambers 
mirroring magic, 
like apricot amulets of angels... 
but what if, every seraph is a scar 
wrapped in blinking blemishes of stars ~
bleeding raspberry tears 
        across rhymeless riots,
           soaking the blank canvas of promises...? 

Those egoistic emeralds 
that deceived me 
by backstabbing the innocence, 
harvested in my heart ~ 
while hiding their macabre musings 
in own cocoon of marble-cut conspiracies, 
threaded with vivacious vines... 
pardon my aggressive aromas, 
which may leave raven-rose fingerprints ~
upon the tattooed tyranny of your demons, 
for, this one throne to rule them all
hasn't been enough to erase the omen
from their opalescent lens of life... 

Perhaps, I am a secret laid bare, 
which only the sorceress of sun could conceal, 
in the womb of honeysuckle light, as ~ 
a wizard is not a puppeteer, polished in gold
neither he seeks for those raindrops of revenge 
which can engrave my unloved initials 
as a 'beauty of bloodstones'... 

I cannot be Asteria, 
diving in the divine seas of silver elves ~
dreaming of a moment 
when preachers of rhapsody would ride 
on cashmere feathers of Pegasus, 
  like an oasis in the desert of cacophony... 
and I have been forbidden 
by even the worshippers of woes 
to imprint my pulsations with timeless trails 
        of poisonous peonies ~ 
and mourn the demise of doves, 
                                    breathing in me... 

"She is a paradise, poised with pearls, 
releasing the last scent of a forlorn lullaby, 
trapped as torment, in orchards of hate ~
  as the zenith petal of pain, finally  f a l l s 
ferrying and floating upon pistachio meadows, 
 where vulnerability waltzes in kiwi moon-wings 
  and peace is found within platinum walls 
                           of one's watercolor psyche..."
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